


Tell Me We'll Never Get Used To It

by WincestOTP



Series: Tell Me We'll Never Get Used To It [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Choking, Explicit Homophobia, M/M, Pain Kink, Rimming, Soulmates, Underage - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform, breath play, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 63,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestOTP/pseuds/WincestOTP
Summary: Dean disappears with no warning while hunting Leviathans. Sam doesn't hit a dog.





	1. Every New Beginning is Some Other Beginning's End

**Author's Note:**

> New chapters will be posted on Wednesdays to celebrate "WinchesterWednesday".
> 
> This picks up at the end of S7 and covers the time before the start of S8. For those who might be concerned, Wincest is and always will be my endgame. 
> 
> Title inspired by Richard Siken and Jensen Ackles. 
> 
> This fic contains explicit descriptions of underage sex (15/30), and mentions past extreme underage (~11/15). If that's a problem for you, please consider carefully whether or not you want to continue. 
> 
> I've updated the tags to reflect Sam and Jensen's current sexual relationship. 
> 
> Thank you to @mais_fica for reading through this and holding my hand as needed. ♥
> 
> I'd also like to thank @dollylux and @exaggerated_specificity for being wonderful people and writers and basically a creative inspiration for as long as I've known them.

Sam doesn't really know what he’s doing anymore.

He went to Jody right after it happened, when he was shell shocked and hurting in ways he didn't know were possible because _Dean was gone_ and he didn’t know what else to do. She was kind and gentle, as much as she could be. But eventually it was too much, _he_ was too much. People were talking, asking questions, and he could see that his grief was wearing her down, stirring up memories of her own barely healed wounds. 

After a month of drinking and rage and waking them both up with his screams, he quietly packed his bag and left. He waited till she was at work, didn't think he could bear to see the relief in her eyes, and was glad he did when she didn't even call.

He made it a month on his own, ringing silence and loneliness so vast and aching deep he thought he might be a ghost himself. Then he called Garth, asking about a book he'd heard of, anything to hear someone say his name, to talk to someone who actually _knows_ him. It’s a dead end, though, as he’d known it would be, and Garth’s puzzled silence at the end of the call ensures Sam doesn’t call him again.

_He doesn't let himself think about the fact that Dean did this for four years before he finally cracked and came for Sam, because Sam isn't sure he's going to make it four months._

He goes to Bobby's storage locker, where he kept copies of all his books, but he and Dean had already scoured the stacks looking for anything on Leviathans and Purgatory so he's not surprised when after another month he still hasn’t find anything new. He fleeces the locals at pool and darts and poker to keep himself in whiskey, but it’s not long before everyone knows his face and the smiles he’s used to seeing turn cold. There’s an epic barfight, fueled by rage and despair and loneliness, and Sam wakes up the next morning with blood that isn’t his on his hands and on his shirt. 

He vomits up the last of the whiskey in his system and leaves town, not sure if the men he’d fought with are alive or dead, and only dimly able to care because _Dean is gone_ and nothing else really seems to matter. 

He drives until he runs out of gas, stuck in a tiny town in Nebraska with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, out of leads and out of hope. He goes on a week long bender, berating himself for not knowing what to do, because this is what he _does_ , the only thing he's good for, _and he can't find a god damned thing_.

A run in with the local sheriff sobers him up, and he pulls himself together long enough to fill out a few credit card applications and work a little day labor to build up enough cash for the occasional poker game or a little pool sharking. It’s not living, it’s barely existing, and Sam wishes with everything in him that it could just be over. 

He hears about a man in Washington state, up around Seattle, that his sources tell him looks and sounds just like Dean. But when he drives up there, stomach roiling with excitement and dread, heart pounding erratically in his throat, it’s not Dean. The man’s name is Alec, and he’s leading a group of resistance fighters in a secret war against a biotech company named Manticorp. He doesn’t object to the tests Sam wants to run, and he makes it more than clear that he’d like to have Sam stick around. To help with the fight, for other things. Sam just shakes his head. The horror of Dean’s eyes with someone else behind them is more than he can stomach, and when he leaves he understands Dean’s revulsion toward his soulless self much better than he did before. 

After that he starts hunting again. Easy peasy amateur stuff, because his hands shake from too much booze and not enough sleep and he can't trust his aim. A simple salt and burn puts him in the hospital, and when he gets out he just….drives.

He's in Richardson, TX when the world turns upside down and sideways. He hasn't slept in two days, isn't sure when he last put anything in his stomach that didn't come from a bottle because Dean has been gone for nearly a _year._ He doesn't remember how he ended up here, his stomach twisting as he drives past the hotel where he and Dean stayed all those years ago. He's tempted to stop for the night, let the memories flood his senses--Dean's smile, Dean's laugh, the taste of Dean's skin after a long day in the Texas sun, but he keeps driving, not sure he could survive going that deep into his own head. It's not his fault he doesn't notice the kid, not really. _Dean is gone_ , and the rest of the world is a faded blur and background noise.

But he hears the kid scream. Fear washes through Sam, turning the world bright and vivid for the first time in weeks. He realizes he’s barely on the road, rumble strips shaking even the Impala’s bulk. She slews slightly as he hits the brakes, jumping out almost before she’s stopped. 

The kid is lying on side of the road, eyes huge in his white, bloodless face, painted red by the Impala’s taillights. He’s sucking in huge, shuddering gulps of air as Sam falls to his knees in the wet grass. 

Sam reaches out, letting his hand fall when the kid flinches back. “Are you alright? Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

The kid just stares at him for a moment then shakes his head. “I...I don’t think so. Jesus Christ, you almost killed me!”

“I--” Sam doesn’t know what to say. There’s no excuse. “Listen, I can’t leave you out here in the middle of the night like this. Can I take you somewhere?”

The kid struggles to sit up, and Sam notices the backpack he’s wearing for the first time. “I’m fine,” the kid grunts, and glares at Sam. “Or I would be, if assholes like you weren’t trying to kill me.”

Now that his eyes have adjusted to the dim light, Sam can see a little more of the boy in front of him. He can see that there are bruises scattered up and down his arms, some old and fading, some fresh. There’s a swollen knot high on his cheekbone, at least three days old. When the boy sits up, he’s favoring his right side--could be from falling down, but Sam’s willing to bet it’s something else. He sits back on his heels, considering. This boy is definitely not fine, despite his claim to the contrary.

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine to me,” Sam says quietly. He can’t tell if the kid blushes, but he sees the scowl on his face before he ducks his head away from Sam.

“It’s none of your business.” The words are flat, tired. The boy tries to get to his knees and sways, hand automatically going out for balance. Sam catches it, releasing him as soon as he’s steady. 

“My name’s Sam,” Sam tells him. “You’re obviously hurt. Let me take you to the hospital or back home--maybe to a friend’s house?”

The boy shakes his head and stands carefully, then immediately cries out, his knee buckling underneath him. Sam catches him, holding him up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy. Come on over here, let me take a look.”

Sam leads the kid over to the Impala, easing him down onto the seat. The light from the overhead illuminates his features for the first time, and Sam feels his heart stop, his hands clenching in the fabric around the boy’s knee.

“Ow,” the boy complains. His pupils are dilated from shock and pain, but Sam can see crystal clear green rimming the darkness. His hair is longer than John would ever allow Dean’s to grow, but the color is the same as Dean’s was at this age, and Sam has kissed lips that same shape and shade of bubblegum pink more times than he can count. Sam realizes he’s staring when a faint flush creeps up over the freckles sprinkled like confetti over sharp cheekbones. “Cut it out,” the kid mutters, turning his face away. “I know what I look like.”

“You look like someone I know,” Sam says, throat tight. “Someone...I lost. Recently.”

The kid looks at him skeptically, but he must see something in Sam’s face. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “My name’s Jensen.” He holds out his hand, soft and warm and nothing like Dean’s at his age when Sam takes it. Letting go to return his attention to Jensen's knee is an act of will.

“You’re knee is a little messed up, Jensen,” Sam says, bending it carefully and watching Jensen’s face. It’s a little swollen and obviously tender, but Sam doesn’t think it’s badly hurt. “But I think if you ice it and keep it up for a day or two you should be fine. Or I can take you to a hospital. But you can’t walk on it tonight, that’s for sure.”

Jensen’s face crumples. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” he confesses quietly. “I can’t go home. I can’t.” 

Sam traces his finger gently over the knot on Jensen’s cheek. “I’m guessing you didn’t get this walking into a door.” He’s not surprised when Jensen laughs bitterly.

“That’s what they always say on TV, right? Easier than telling the truth.”

Sam just nods. He feels like the world is spinning out of control, like he’s losing his mind. “Jensen...you can come with me, if you want.” He holds up his hand, forestalling Jensen’s objections. “I know it’s crazy. But I can’t just leave you here on the side of the road. I’m just kind of drifting, at the moment…but you’re welcome to stay with me for a day or two until your knee is better.” He hesitates, suddenly desperate for the boy to say yes. “Or longer, if you need to.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at Sam curiously before he shrugs in defeat. “Here’s hoping you aren’t a serial killer, I guess,” he jokes weakly, and Sam smiles as reassuringly as he can under the circumstances. 

“I’ll try not to kill anything while you’re around,” he quips back, and the tension between them eases just a little. “Come on, let’s get you around to the passenger’s side. Do you want to keep your bag or put it in the back?” Jensen’s grip tightens on the straps of his backpack and Sam holds his hands up reassuringly. “No problem,” he says, and helps the boy hobble around to the other side of the car. 

Sam drives for another five hours. Jensen devours all three of the Powerbars Sam has stashed in the glove box, then falls asleep against the door, the soft sound of his breathing somehow soothing after months of silence. With a little time to think, Sam starts to wonder if the boy is even really human. He’ll have to do some tests when they finally stop--holy water, a little silver against his skin, nothing scary. He finds himself hoping this is real, a second chance of sorts. 

The thought brings a smile to Sam’s face for what feels like the first time in years. He doesn’t let himself dwell on why it’s suddenly so important to him to help this boy, just focuses on how good it feels to have a mission, something that he can actually do. This boy, Jensen--he needs Sam, that much seems clear, and Sam is going to do everything in his power to make sure that this time, he doesn’t fail.


	2. Chapter 2

The motel Sam stops at is dingy and threadbare, typical fare for the Winchesters. Jensen sleeps through Sam getting a room, waking up with a violent start when Sam gently shakes his shoulder outside their room. Sam helps him into the room and gets his leg elevated before bringing his own bag and a bucket of ice back into the room. 

“So...why are you doing this?” Jensen asks as Sam carefully wraps his knee. He accepts the makeshift ice pack Sam hands him, wincing at the cold and wincing again when Sam drags over the room’s only other chair and props up his leg. “I mean, I could be a criminal. I could rob you, kill you in your sleep. Why risk it?”

Sam snorts. “I can take care of myself, for starters. And I told you...you remind me of someone I lost. The resemblance is kind of uncanny, to tell the truth.” Sam digs in his bag for a moment, pulls out a silver quarter. He tosses it to Jensen. “Know any magic tricks?” 

Jensen catches the coin in mid-air, giving Sam an incredulous look. “Um...no?” He tosses the coin back to Sam, who catches it deftly and walks it across the back of his fingers, earning him a smile from Jensen. “Okay, that’s kind of cool. Maybe you can show me.”

“Maybe later,” Sam says, entranced by Jensen’s smile. “First, let’s get you some painkillers for that knee.” He gets a glass of water, pouring a shot of holy water into it from the flask inside his jacket. Jensen drinks the water without question, not even making a face as he swallows the pills Sam hands him. Sam’s smile feels more genuine this time, at least some of his fears alleviated by the simple tests. He stands up, still smiling down at the boy. “I call first shower,” he says, and Jensen just gives him that odd look again. 

“Sure, go for it,” Jensen says, shrugging. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a miracle, the water pressure is actually decent. Sam tries to direct his thoughts in other directions, but Jensen’s smile, his full, plush lips and bright green eyes are all he can see in his mind. He groans, giving in to temptation and wrapping a soapy hand around his cock, imagining that it’s Jensen’s mouth hot and wet around him. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming harder than he has since Dean disappeared, leaning against the wet tile as he pants, weak-kneed and guilty. He climbs out of the shower with a sigh, wrapping the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the hotel room. He crosses the room, head down and lost in thought, wanting nothing more than a few hours sleep before he and the boy get on the road again.

“Wow, you really keep in shape.” 

Sam looks up, startled. Jensen is watching him with open admiration, those full lips slightly open, his eyes wide. As Sam watches, his tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip and Sam does his best to control his expression. 

“Uh...thanks,” Sam says, a little flustered. He notices that Jensen has managed to change clothes, tossing his dirty jeans and t-shirt into the corner and slipping on a pair of soft-looking gray sweats and a white undershirt instead. His arms are a little thin but he still has some decent muscle tone, and Sam can see the freckles scattered over his shoulders. He can also see the bruises laddering Jensen’s arms, and he remembers the way the kid had held himself earlier. Sam grabs a pair of boxers and his last clean pair of jeans and retreats to the bathroom, annoyed with himself for not bringing them in when he showered. He’s not used to having anyone else around, and he needs to think about things like this, for his own sanity if nothing else. The attraction he feels toward Jensen is understandable to a certain extent--the boy could be Dean re-incarnated. But he’s a kid, and even if Sam and Dean had already been in love when Dean was this age, Sam can’t take that choice away from Jensen.

When Sam comes back out, Jensen is flipping through the few channels available on their TV. Sam sits on the corner of the bed closest to his chair and clears his throat. “I noticed when we met that you seemed to be favoring your ribs on the right side, Jensen. I’d like to take a look, make sure nothing is broken.” 

Jensen just shrugs. “If you want. They feel better now, a little bruised but I’ll live.” His smile twists a little. “Believe me, I’ve made it through worse.”

Sam moves to kneel between Jensen’s legs, acutely aware of the boy’s proximity. He can smell Jensen from this close, now that he’s paying attention--sweat, grass, and something different, sweeter, underneath. He feels a faint tinge of relief--by the time he was sixteen, the age Sam guess Jensen probably is, smoke and gunpowder were already seeping from Dean’s pores. His brother had never smelt this clean, not to Sam. Sam looks up at Jensen, moving carefully. 

“Can you take your shirt off for me? I’m going to put my hands on your chest and press,” Sam says gently. “Just tell me if it hurts.” Jensen nods, his cheeks turning pink, and carefully pulls his shirt up and over his head with a slight wince. The dark bruises covering his torso confirm Sam’s suspicions that something in Jensen’s life is very wrong, and he hopes that what he’s doing won’t cause the boy even more problems. 

Sam starts on the right, the side Jensen had been favoring, watching Jensen’s face for any signs of discomfort. Jensen’s skin is soft and warm, smooth and unscarred, and once again Sam can’t help but compare. This is who Dean could have been, he thinks distantly. He’s so caught up in cataloguing the differences between Dean and Jensen that he nearly misses Jensen’s wince and sharp inhale. 

“Ow, fuck,” Jensen says, pained. “Right there hurts like a bitch.” Sam makes himself pay attention, pressing again. There’s no softness, no feeling of bone grinding under his fingertips so he notes the spot--there’s a group of freckles in the shape of a leaf near the spot, just like Dean and it’s _unreal_ \--and moves on. There’s another spot that’s sore, but nothing appears to be broken on either side. When he’s done, Sam doesn’t move, his hands spanning Jensen’s ribs. Jensen’s heart is beating wildly, fluttering under Sam’s fingers. Sam can see Jensen’s pulse jumping in his throat, Jensen’s eyes wide and dark. He wets his lips again. “Sam?” he whispers, his voice so young and soft. It snaps Sam out of the trance he’d let himself fall into. He closes his eyes and starts to sit back, his hands leaving Jensen’s skin reluctantly. A small sound escapes Jensen and Sam feels the boy’s hands on his wrists, trapping them against his skin. He opens his eyes to see Jensen leaning forward, closes them again as Jensen’s lips find his. 

It’s bittersweet. 

Jensen’s lips are soft and sweet, exactly the way Sam remembers, and yet this is nothing at all like kissing Dean--Jensen has none of the experience Dean had already picked up by this age. 

Sam’s body betrays him, mouth opening in surprise as Jensen’s weight falls against his hands, as Jensen’s mouth slots clumsily over his. Jensen tilts his head, his tongue sneaking out hesitantly to touch Sam’s bottom lip, tasting him, shyly at first then more eagerly when Sam doesn’t pull back. Sam knows he shouldn’t, knows he has to put an end to this but he doesn’t, he _can’t._ His hands move of their own volition, pulling away from where Jensen has them trapped against his ribs to cup Jensen’s face, urging him back into the chair as he licks into Jensen’s mouth over and over, gently forcing Jensen to open wider for him, forgetting every good intention he’d had earlier in the feel of _Dean_ in his arms again. 

Jensen’s hands flutter over his arms before landing more firmly on his back, pulling him closer. He moans softly into Sam’s mouth, his hands like a brand on Sam’s bare skin, soft and warm and oh so good. Sam’s dick is pushing into the edge of the chair, half hard despite getting off less than an hour ago. It’s not until Jensen’s hand finds him, strokes tentatively over the head where it’s leaking into his boxers, that he comes back to himself with a jolt. Sam pulls back abruptly, breathing hard, horrified by what he’s almost done. Jensen looks at him with dazed, heavy lidded eyes, lips kiss swollen and red, a dream come to life and ready for the taking.

“Sam--Sam, what’s wrong, I--” Jensen’s voice is slow and thick as he leans forward, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. He reaches for Sam, who ducks back clumsily. 

“Jensen--you don’t have to do this,” Sam says awkwardly. “You’re a kid. I can’t--” Sam wipes his mouth with a trembling hand. “I can’t hurt you like that.”

Jensen’s eyes go dull. “You don’t want me.” He turns his face away, but not before Sam sees the hurt in his eyes, hurt that goes straight to Sam’s heart. He’s seen this before, Dean’s eyes swimming with rejection, and he can’t do it again. He reaches out to turn Jensen’s face back to him, his thumb tracing over the knot on Jensen’s cheek. 

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he says softly. “But you barely know me. Whether you realize it or not, you’re in shock and you feel like you owe me for getting you out of a bad situation. You’re also hurt, and if-- _if_ I could be convinced that this is something that you truly want I wouldn’t do anything until you were healed.”

Jensen turns his face into Sam’s hand with a sigh, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the palm. “This is why I had to leave,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to hate myself or them. I thought maybe--maybe if I went away. Gave them some time. Maybe I could go back one day and they would love me again.” A tear slips down his cheek and over Sam’s hand. He looks back at Sam, tears turning his lashes dark and spiky. “But you can’t go back, can you? Not from something like this.”

Sam pulls the boy gently into his arms, careful not to jar his ribs or his knee too badly. Jensen clings to him tightly, shaking as the grief and loss pour out of him. Sam doesn’t know how long he holds him, stroking his back and his hair, but when Jensen pulls back, they’re both wrung out. Jensen doesn’t object when Sam lifts him out of the chair and carries him to the bed farthest from the door, laying him gently on the soft sheets and sitting down next to him. He runs a hand through Jensen’s hair, smiling down at him. “Let’s get some sleep,” he says. “Things will look different when we wake up, I promise.” Jensen nods, so young and vulnerable, so different from the man he resembles. Sam resists the urge to kiss him on the forehead, settles for pulling the scratchy motel comforter up over the boy and waiting til he drops off to sleep. 

Sam’s exhausted as well, but there are still a few things he needs to do, things he’s grown lax about in his grief. He pulls out a box of salt from his duffle and secures the door and window, double checking the lines, and draws a few quick sigils on the windows and walls. He still feels a little uneasy about Jensen’s resemblance to Dean, despite him passing the holy water and silver tests, and his instant and undeniable attraction is unusual to say the least. But there’s nothing else he can do right now so he settles for sliding a gun under his pillow and finally drifting off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It’s midmorning when Sam wakes up, a single wayward beam of sunlight piercing the blackout curtains he’d drawn the night before. He can hear the shower running and it throws the night before into vivid detail. There’s no excuse for his behavior, he knows--punchdrunk and exhausted doesn’t excuse molesting your possibly dead brother’s teenage look alike. Sam buries his face in the pillow with a groan. 

Naturally Jensen comes out a few minutes later wearing nothing but a thin motel towel, dripping wet and looking like half the fantasies Sam’s jerked off to in the last 20 years come to life. He smiles shyly at Sam, blood rushing to his cheeks as Sam tries not to stare too openly as Jensen reaches for his bag. The line of his back is beautiful, pale creamy skin dotted with cinnamon freckles and not a scar in sight. Sam misses Dean’s scars suddenly, longs for the familiar roadmap of their past written across Dean’s skin. Then Jensen smiles at him over his shoulder from under long damp lashes and once again all Sam can think about is how good that smooth, untouched skin would taste and the sounds Jensen would make as Sam took him apart. 

_I’m so fucked,_ Sam thinks wearily, and buries his face in the pillow again until he’s reasonably sure Jensen has some clothes on.

Once Jensen’s dressed, they order pizza and Sam decides they need to stay put for another day. Sam wants to let Jensen’s knee rest a little more even though the swelling has gone down and it can bear his weight mostly pain free. More importantly, Sam wants to give Jensen a chance to change his mind about going home while they are still only a few hours away. Jensen presses his lips tight and nods reluctantly even though it’s clear he doesn’t agree, but Sam knows how hard losing your family can hit even when you think it’s what you want, no matter how bad it might seem at the time. He can spare another day while Jensen thinks it over. 

Just in case, Sam takes the time to convert one of Dean’s old licenses into an ID for Jensen. It isn’t hard; all he has to do is change the birthdate and the first name and now Jensen is Sam’s nephew. It turns out Jensen is fifteen, which both fuels Sam’s guilt and makes him more determined than ever to do the right thing. 

Jensen doesn’t make it easy on him, though. He doesn’t move to touch Sam intimately--no kisses, no lingering touches. But it’s clear he knows how to use his looks as a weapon, and that he has no trouble wielding them against Sam. Sitting too close, smiles tinged with fondness that Sam hasn’t earned, that seem a little too bright. Coy glances from under thick dark lashes. Warmth and heat and that voice that drags Sam back to when he and Dean were kids, just learning about themselves and each other.

“How old were you when you met him?” Jensen asks later, out of the blue. They’re sitting at the battered old table, Sam making scans of an old Sumerian text that mentions ‘the long toothed beasts that will not die’ and Jensen reading an old battered paperback from his backpack. 

Sam just looks at him, brow furrowed. “When I met who?” he asks. 

“The person you lost. The person you said looks like me.” Jensen leans forward, his voice going soft. “You loved him?”

Sam’s throat tightens. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I loved him. I knew him all my life.” Sam hesitates. “He was younger than you the first time I kissed him. He didn’t really know what to do--we were so young. But I already knew that I loved him and he loved me. It wasn't easy, but we made it work.”

There’s compassion in Jensen’s voice beyond his years. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “That _sucks_.”

“Yeah. Well. He’s not dead, as far as I know, just missing. I’m going to find him and bring him home, where ever he is.” Sam wishes he were half as confident as he sounds. The truth is he’s all but out of ideas--he’s tracking down obscure mentions of possible Leviathans in Sumerian, scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of desperate. But he won’t give up. Not until he knows for sure there’s no hope of bringing Dean back. Dean never gave up on Sam, and Sam can’t give his brother anything less than his best effort to save him. 

“is that what you're working on now?” Jensen asks, moving around the table. Sam's surprised it's taken him this long--whatever the kid was expecting, it likely wasn't this. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, focusing on the delicate pages rather than the brush of Jensen's hair along Sam's jaw as the boy leans over Sam's shoulder for a closer look. 

“What _is_ that? I've never seen anything like it.” 

“It's Sumerian,” Sam explains. “It's a little hard to explain, but right now it's the best lead I've got.” He starts to scan another page. “And the pay isn't bad either. I've got a verified account with a couple of universities--I scan the pages, they verify the book, I get paid. Afterwards I run everything through a translator in case it's something useful.”

Jensen looks at him with something like awe. “That's so cool. Hey, I've got an app on my phone that lets me scan stuff, I think. Can I help?” Sam can't resist Jensen’s eager expression, but his question trips something in Sam’s mind.

“Jensen, does your phone have GPS turned off?” Sam asks. “If not, we need to take care of that. Otherwise your family will be able to track you.” 

Jensen nods, pulling out his phone and showing Sam the settings. “I took care of that first thing, and I’ve kept an eye on it since. They haven’t tried to turn it back on.” He looks a little sad. “Honestly, I’m not even sure they’ll look for me.”

His words leave Sam at a loss. He’s pretty sure Jensen is wrong--hadn’t he thought the same thing about John and Dean? Only to find out how wrong he was years later. But he doesn’t know Jensen or his family well enough to reassure him, and he doesn’t want to lie. 

“They may have just not thought about it,” Sam says, putting one hand over Jensen’s where it’s lying on the table. “And regardless of how angry they might be now, I’m pretty sure they’ll regret it later.”

He stands up, indicating that Jensen should sit in front of the book. Jensen hesitates, then visibly pulls himself together. Sam leans over his shoulder, showing him the right angle to get the best scan. He doesn’t deny, even to himself, that he’s enjoying the smell of Jensen’s hair and the way his hands completely wrap around the boy’s fine boned wrists and fingers. He even allows himself the small, secret luxury of rubbing tiny circles on the back of Jensen’s hands and the delicate underside of his wrist. Sam is almost disappointed by how quickly Jensen catches on, but he reluctantly leaves the boy to get another book from the car so they can both work. 

It’s early evening by the time they stop. Sam rarely works at scanning for so long, it's hell on his back, but Jensen seemed to be enjoying himself, pointing out odd glyphs and singing along to the music he started up on his phone. Unlike Dean, Jensen actually has a halfway decent voice, and Sam finds himself smiling more than he has in months and unwilling to give up this excuse to listen to Jensen entertain himself.

But finally his spine can't take anymore and Sam stands up, stretching. “How does Chinese sound for dinner?” he asks Jensen, looking over his shoulder to see how far he's gotten. “You want to come with?”

Jensen straightens up with a groan, his spine creaking a bit. “Hell, yes,” he says. “I'm starving and I think the walls are closing in on me.”

Sam laughs and stretches again. It feels good, and he pretends not to notice the way Jensen's breath catches as he stares openly at the way Sam’s shirt pulls tight across his chest and rides up over his hipbones. Sam tries not to feel too flattered when Jensen's hand slips under the table for a quick second--he remembers what it was like to be a teenager, after all. He turns away, digging through his bag to pull out a baseball cap and push it onto Jensen’s head.

“Well...it’s not great but it hides your hair, and it’s harder to see your eye color.” He studies Jensen for a minute. “It’ll have to do. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

They drive around for awhile, enjoying the little taste of freedom. Sam’s sure they passed a hole in the wall Chinese place on the way into town, and sure enough they retrace the drive and find it tucked away in a stripmall off the main road through town. 

“It was the middle of the night, how did you even see that?” Jensen asks as they pull into the parking lot. He opens the Impala’s door and takes a deep breath. “Oh my God, that smells amazing.” He flushes as his stomach rumbles loudly. 

“I have a sixth sense about these things,” Sam jokes. “I can find a pizza parlor or takeout Chinese at midnight in just about any city in America.” 

The menus are an incomprehensible mix of Chinese and English, but once again Sam’s experience saves the day and they manage to order enough food for at least three people. It smells fantastic, and Jensen can’t resist tearing open a paper bag of spring rolls and inhaling two of them before they’ve even gotten back to the car. He catches Sam’s amused expression and hugs them to his chest. “I’m a growing boy!” he protests, grinning. He bites down on another one, the end hanging from his mouth as he struggles to open the car door with his hands full, and Sam feels a sort of madness overtake him. He puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder, turning him around, suddenly aware of how _small_ Jensen is compared to what he will be. He leans in, all but pinning Jensen against the door, and deliberately bites through the little cylinder. His lips tingle where they brush against Jensen’s, just the faintest touch but it burns through them both like a shock. Sam reaches behind Jensen and opens the door for him, enjoying Jensen’s almost comical surprise as he grins and walks around to the other side. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he feels happy, almost giddy. Light-hearted in a way that he hasn’t in far too long, as though this younger version of Dean has turned _him_ into a teenager as well. 

Jensen slides into the passenger’s seat as Sam is starting the car, full lips pursed in a pout that Sam shouldn’t find as charming as he does. “You’re an asshole,” he mutters under his breath, glaring halfheartedly at Sam. “Seriously.”

 

Sam feels instantly contrite. He'd been the one to make the decision to hold back, and he’s the adult here, no matter how strange he’s feeling at the moment. “You're right,” he says, turning in his seat to face the boy. “I should--” Whatever apology Sam was about to make gets cut off when Jensen leans forward, quick as a blink, and kisses Sam square on the mouth. He doesn't linger, just grins smugly at Sam from across the wide leather seat. “I said you're an asshole, not that I wanted you to stop. Now can we go before I literally starve to death?” Sam laughs, licking the taste of spring rolls and Jensen off his lips as he puts the car in gear and they take off. 

They stop at a park on the way back to the motel, Sam giving into Jensen’s woebegone expression at the thought of going back to the room immediately, wondering if this is what Dean always meant by Sam's ‘puppy eyes’. It’s a nice evening, and the park is noisy and busy as Sam and Jensen lay out their cartons and bags and packets of sauce. They talk and laugh about random things--movies, music, books and Sam tells himself this is _not_ a first date, no matter what it feels like. No matter that Jensen’s feet tangle with his under the table and stay that way. No matter that he feels like he’s falling in love with his brother all over again. 

As they finish eating, Sam can’t help notice that Jensen has fallen quiet. He’s watching a group of kids play touch football a little ways off with a wistful expression that reminds Sam that whatever happened to make him leave, Jensen had a very different life not long ago. He clears his throat. 

“Did you play football in school?” Sam asks, nodding toward the group of kids. One of them throws a perfect spiral pass into the ‘endzone’ and both sides cheer. 

Jensen shakes his head. “Nah. I played in middle school, but I was kind of afraid of what would happen if anyone found out I’m--found out about me. I figured it wasn’t a good idea, you know? Texas doesn’t really look kindly on that sort of thing.”

Sam winces internally. He can imagine how hard that must have been. “You don’t have to, but if you want to talk about what happened, I’m willing to listen,” he says quietly. The corner of his mouth turns up in a fond smile as he imagines Dean’s response to this whole conversation. But Jensen doesn’t say _Oh God, just kill me now_ like Sam half expects, or drop his head on the table with a thud. He just shrugs. 

“Not much to tell,” he says, picking at a splinter in the table's rough surface. “I decided I had to tell my parents a couple of weeks ago and they freaked out a little, which I kind of expected, They told our pastor and he wanted to have a special prayer service--he called it an exorcism--to ‘cast out the demon of homosexuality’.” Jensen doesn’t exactly shrug this time, more like hunching in on himself. “They made me talk to him about my...problem, and it was--it was bad. Really bad.

“Pastor Williams got mad that I didn't do what I was supposed to and--and a bunch of stuff happened. Then my parents got even more upset and things just kind of went downhill from there. I found out my parents were going to send me to this camp that Pastor Williams runs. He says they can make kids stop being _like me_.” Jensen shudders, a look of absolute terror flashing over his face. “So I had to get out of there. After that you tried to kill me--” he flashes Sam a shaky grin that breaks another little piece off Sam’s heart--”and now I’m on my first date eating Chinese food in the park.”

“Funny how these things work out, right?” Sam says, more lightly than he feels. His heart trips a little faster when Jensen’s face brightens at his words. Sam feels like he’s drowning, emotions going haywire as he struggles to deal with what he’s feeling, when he doesn’t even really know what that is, or why. All he knows right now is that his heart is aching with the need to see Jensen smile again, and his body is thrumming with the need for other things. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to get caught making out in the park after dark on our first date,” Jensen deadpans as he gets up to toss their garbage away. Sam smacks his ass lightly as he walks past and Jensen stumbles, flushing, his eyes wide as he looks back over his shoulder at Sam. Sam just looks innocent and Jensen flushes again. “Fucking asshole,” he mutters under his breath, but his smile is back, and blinding.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit, underage m/m sex. If that's not your cup of tea, please consider carefully whether or not you should continue.

The ride back to the motel is quiet. One of Dean’s tapes is playing softly, Jensen is picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans and sneaking glances at Sam from under his lashes, a soft, wondering smile playing over his lips. Sam watches him from the corner of his eye, a skill perfected as a teenager when watching Dean drive, sleep, eat--anything--seemed more important than breathing at times. He’s half hard in his jeans, feels like the world is going to spin off it’s axis any moment and he can’t decide if it’s terrifying or exhilarating. 

“How does your knee feel?” Sam asks to break the silence. He kicks himself mentally as soon as the words are out of his mouth when Jensen looks at him with a raised eyebrow and grin. 

“Not too bad,” Jensen says, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he watches Sam. He’s staring at Sam’s hands on the wheel like he’s imagining all the things they could do to him, and it’s making Sam a little crazy. “A little stiff still, but the swelling is gone and it doesn’t hurt much any more.” He shifts to put his back against the door, his good leg bent underneath him so that his legs are spread wide. “Why? You have something in mind?”

Sam risks a direct glance in Jensen’s direction and immediately realizes his mistake. Jensen’s stroking himself through his jeans, a light touch that Sam can almost feel himself. He presses harder when he sees Sam looking, catches Sam's gaze and doesn't look away. His lower lip is full and red where his teeth sink in, and his soft _ah_ as he rolls his hips against his hand nearly has Sam driving off the road. Sam sends up a silent prayer of thanks and apology as he tears his eyes away from the show Jensen's putting on long enough to get them safely into the motel parking lot.

Sam turns off the car when he reaches their spot, but neither of them move to get out. Jensen’s still leaning against the door, looking at Sam with half lidded eyes and parted lips, daring Sam to take him up on his silent offer. Sam feels like he’s in a dream as he slides across the seat, moving slowly and deliberately so that Jensen has time to move away if he wants. 

But he doesn’t, and the helplessly wanton sound Jensen makes when Sam tangles his fist in his hair and slowly pulls him forward goes straight to Sam’s dick. Jensen’s eyes fall shut, thick lashes shuttering blown pupils and sea green even as his mouth opens for Sam with a moan, plush lips parting willingly, eagerly. Sam takes his time, kisses Jensen slow and thorough, sucking on his tongue, drawing back just a bit to nip at those irresistibly soft lips. Jensen moans again, pushing closer, and Sam holds onto his self control by a thread, wants to haul Jensen into his lap and grind against him until they both come hot and sticky all over each other. Jensen seems to have the same idea, and the thought of being arrested and never having this again is all that gives Sam the strength of will to gradually pull away. 

Jensen clings to his shoulders in wordless protest, and Sam makes a soothing sound, stroking Jensen’s spit shined lower lip with his thumb until Jensen settles back against the seat. 

“There,” Sam says breathlessly as he moves back into the driver’s seat. “It’s not really a first date without a kiss, now is it?” He gets out of the car before he gives into temptation again, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at Jensen where he’s collapsed against the passenger door. 

By the time Sam gets the door to their room open and steps inside, Jensen’s right there, warm and solid and in Sam’s space. He tilts his face up to Sam eagerly, eyes already wide and dark with want. Sam feels the last of his reluctant self control slip away when Jensen puts his hands on Sam’s chest and stands on tiptoe to kiss him, hesitant and a little unsure but determined as he licks over the seam of Sam’s lips insistently and pushes Sam’s overshirt off his shoulders. Sam opens for him willingly, following Jensen’s lead and murmuring encouragement as Jensen gains a little confidence, his strong hands sliding down to cup Jensen’s ass and pull him closer, let him feel the long, hot line of Sam’s cock where it’s pressed against his jeans. Jensen shudders, a low sound of _want_ leaking out into Sam’s mouth as Jensen pushes up into him, desperate for more.

Sam catches Jensen’s desperation, feels it like a fire under his skin, burning away caution and good sense. He pushes Jensen back against the wall as Jensen tugs at his t-shirt, eager to get to the warm skin underneath. Sam groans deep in his throat when Jensen ducks his head to lick over his tattoo, no longer shy or unsure, then licks over the sensitive nub right underneath. His hand clenches in Jensen’s hair, urgent, and Jensen latches on with a greedy sound as he sucks Sam’s nipple into a tight, aching peak.

“ _Fuck_ , Jensen, _God_ \--” Sam pulls Jensen back long enough to yank Jensen’s shirt up and off, needing to feel as much of him as possible. He tries to be mindful of Jensen’s bruises but he’s not sure if he succeeds, both of them too far gone to be gentle. “God, Jensen. You’re so beautiful, feel so good--” He tilts Jensen’s head back for another kiss, open mouthed and hard, fumbling open Jensen’s jeans before wrapping his hands around Jensen’s thighs and lifting him effortlessly. 

Jensen wraps himself around Sam, head thrown back as he clings to Sam’s shoulders, legs locked into place behind Sam’s back as Sam pushes his hands into Jensen’s jeans, gripping the warm bare skin of his ass. Sam’s fingers press into the cleft between the firm muscles and the sound Jensen makes, low and pleading, sends an almost painful surge of want through Sam. Jensen’s eyes roll back a little as he writhes helplessly in Sam’s arms, torn between pushing back onto Sam’s fingers and the exquisite pressure on his cock where it’s pressed against Sam. 

“Sam,” Jensen moans, pressing his face into Sam’s neck as his hips grinds mindlessly against Sam’s fingers. “Sam, oh God _please_ \--” Jensen can’t stay still as Sam sucks burning kisses down his neck, soft skin hot under Sam’s lips as he finds his favorite trio of freckles and ruthlessly pulls the hot blood to the surface. He’s shaking, overwhelmed, desperate for anything and everything Sam is willing to give him. Sam licks over the mark he’s just made on Jensen’s neck, red and purple standing out against Jensen’s gorgeous skin, fierce satisfaction rushing through him. He resists the urge to mark Jensen everywhere, to cover every one of the bruises dotting his arms and torso with his own. Instead he pulls in a deep shuddering breath and tries to wrestle back a little control as he takes in the beautiful boy in his arms. Jensen looks utterly debauched, lips swollen and red, spit slick and shiny and begging to be kissed again, eyes blown to the thinnest rim of green staring dazedly up at him from under messy blonde hair, throat and chest sweetly flushed a delicate pink. Sam takes a moment to push Jensen’s hair back from his face, kissing him tenderly as he struggles to balance the heat of their desire with Jensen’s inexperience. 

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” Sam whispers, leaning in and just breathing Jensen in. Touching Jensen feels like coming home, like soothing an ache he's lived with long enough to begin to forget what being whole felt like.

“Sam?” Jensen sounds uncertain, shy again under Sam’s gaze, and Sam’s tenuous control snaps again. He pulls Jensen’s arm from around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to the palm as he pushes it down to where Jensen's tight against Sam’s body. 

“Touch yourself,” Sam orders raggedly, and Jensen struggles to obey, fingers thick and slow with arousal. He works his cock through the slit in his boxers, eyes falling shut with how good it feels. Sam ducks his head to watch as Jensen strokes himself slow and easy, the sound of his hand moving over wet, heated flesh slick and dirty. “Yeah, just like that,” Sam pants, “Just like that, so good for me, Jensen, so good--”. He pushes Jensen harder against the wall, pinning him there with his hips as he works his own jeans open. Jensen’s eyes widen and he lets himself go to touch Sam instead, wrapping his slick hand around Sam’s cock, so much bigger and thicker than his own. Sam’s hips jerk into the touch, thick blurt of precome dripping from the slit and Jensen gathers it up to rub underneath the head. Sam curses under his breath as Jensen brings his hand to his mouth and licks, eyes locked on Sam’s as he does. 

“Fuck, Jensen--your mouth--,” Sam mutters raggedly, and wraps one huge hand around them both, hot slick flesh sliding together easily. 

“Oh God,” Jensen moans, the hand still tangled in Sam’s hair clenching convulsively at the sudden surge of pleasure. He covers Sam’s hand with his own, hips stuttering as they find a rhythm, coming together perfectly. “Sam--please--I need--” 

The desperation in Jensen’s voice drags a low rough groan out of Sam as he kisses Jensen hard, shoving up into the slick tunnel of their hands. Sam works them both, just this side of too rough, swallowing the broken whimpers the sight of them together drags out of Jensen. He abandons the soft warmth of Jensen’s mouth reluctantly to whisper against his ear. 

“Come for me, Jensen. Want to see you, want to hear you--”

Jensen sobs, clinging to Sam as his whole body locks tight and he spills hot and sticky over Sam’s hand and cock, pearly white streaking his chest nearly to his chin. Sam lifts him higher, sucks a drop from Jensen’s collar bone and that’s all it takes to push Sam over the edge. He comes with Jensen’s taste in his mouth, filling his senses completely, whitehot pleasure crackling up his spine as he thrusts against Jensen’s firm stomach. He shudders to a stop, finally, leans them both against the wall with a sigh. They stay there for a long moment, then Jensen carefully untangles his legs from around Sam’s waist with a low groan. Sam looks down at him in wonder, at his flushed cheeks and red-bitten lips and the way his hair is sweaty and sticking up. He can’t help kissing him slow and sweet, and feels Jensen smile before wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck and kissing him back with a sigh.

“Today’s a good day for firsts,” Jensen says, smiling up at Sam from under his lashes, and Sam feels his heart squeeze tight because he looks _so damned much_ like Dean. Sam clears his throat, blinking rapidly. 

‘Yeah, it sure is,” he says, voice a little thick, and he hopes Jensen can’t see the tears he’s willing away. 

After that they clean up mostly in silence, but it’s an easy quiet, stripping off soiled clothes and taking turns in the bathroom. Sam finishes first and climbs onto the bed closest to the door, turning off all the lights except the nightstand. Jensen comes out of the bathroom and hesitates, looking at Sam and biting his lip, practically radiant in the lamp’s warm glow. 

Sam smiles up at him. “It’s kind of early to go to sleep, but there’s a Die Hard marathon on if you want to watch TV for awhile,” he offers. “I think there’s even some popcorn in my bag if you have any room left at all after dinner.”

Jensen grins. “It’s only April--isn’t Die Hard more of a Christmas movie?” A smirk lights up his face. “And don’t blame _me_ if I worked up an appetite.” 

Sam laughs. “Any time is a good time for Bruce Willis blowing shit up,” he informs Jensen loftily as Jensen digs through Sam’s bag and comes up with a crumpled box of microwave JiffyPop. Two minutes and a bag of popcorn later, Jensen is tucked under Sam’s arm as they sit against the headboard. He fits perfectly next to Sam as they sit side by side, pressed together from hip to knees, warm and content. Something inside Sam eases every time Jensen turns to him and laughs, eyes bright and happy as they cheer and catcall and quote their favorite lines from the movie. Sam doesn’t even realize he’s slipped his hand under the edge of Jensen’s t-shirt, absently rubbing circles over the skin of his hip, dipping under the waistband of his sweats, until Jensen turns his face into Sam’s neck and breathes _Sam_ warm and urgent against his skin. 

“Sorry,” Sam whispers back, faintly flushed. It feels good to touch Jensen’s skin, natural. 

“I like it,” Jensen murmurs, lips moving soft and warm against Sam’s throat. His hips rise so that Sam’s fingers slide a little deeper, just grazing the light smattering of hair and pulling a breathy _ohhh_ from Jensen. 

Sam’s breath catches as Jensen turns to sprawl artlessly against him. “Please, Sam,” he begs, and Sam gives in without a second thought, burying his face in Jensen’s hair and pulling him into the vee of his legs. Jensen turns his face up for a kiss and Sam can’t resist him, any more than Dean could when Sam was this age. Sam slides his hand into Jensen’s sweats, finds him already hard and leaking. Jensen arches against him with a gasp as Sam works his other hand under Jensen’s t-shirt to pinch and tug at his nipples. Sam feels Jensen’s cock jerk in his hand so he does it again, pulling harder, and Jensen writhes against him with a breathless whimper. “That’s it,” Sam whispers encouragingly, pausing just long enough to push Jensen’s sweats down. Jensen kicks them away, moaning as Sam gently squeezes the head of his dick, gathering up the slick leaking from the tip.

“Sam,” Jensen gasps urgently, pulling Sam down into a messy kiss. “Oh God--”

Sam pulls back, lips pressed to Jensen’s temple instead. “Want to see,” he says when Jensen whines in disappointment. He tilts Jensen’s head down gently, angling it toward the mirror that’s set above the dresser at the foot of the bed. Jensen inhales sharply, then leans forward to strip his shirt off before falling back against Sam’s chest. 

“I want to see your hands on me,” he says breathlessly, eyes glued to their reflection. They both watch as Sam’s hand slides down Jensen’s throat, dark against Jensen’s creamy skin, pausing over the bruise Sam had sucked above his collarbone earlier. Jensen’s breath quickens, his pulse racing under Sam’s hand and Sam squeezes gently, just to see what happens. Jensen’s hips stutter, pushing up into the circle of Sam’s fingers as he moans. “Please,” he begs, sounding dazed. “Please, Sam--”

But Sam isn’t ready to go there. Not yet. He tightens his grip on Jensen’s cock instead, twisting his wrist to catch the bundle of nerves under the head the way Dean always loved as he runs his fingers over Jensen’s full lips, pushing two of them inside. 

“Get them wet for me,” Sam whispers, his lips just brushing Jensen’s ear, and Jensen goes still before sucking them in eagerly. The disappointed sound he makes when Sam pulls them back goes straight to Sam’s dick where it’s leaking steadily into the loose pants he sleeps in. His hips shift against Jensen’s ass and Jensen moans, pushing back against the thick line of heat behind him. 

“Spread your legs for me, Jensen.” 

Jensen obeys instantly, spreading them wide over Sam’s thighs. Sam lets him go long enough to free himself from his sweats with a groan, then pulls Jensen back until his cock is pushed tight between Jensen’s asscheeks. Jensen sucks in a shuddering breath at the feel of him, watching Sam in the mirror, neither of them able to look away from their reflection, from Jensen so wantonly on display. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Sam murmurs against his ear, and Jensen just whines as his hips buck slightly, riding Sam’s cock. Sam rubs the head of Jensen’s dick, wetting his fingers with the slick that’s dripping freely, then deliberately reaches past Jensen’s hard, leaking cock and full, heavy balls to just graze his tight opening. Jensen shudders against him, tensing, breath coming fast and hard as he realizes what Sam’s doing. 

“Have you done this before, Jensen?” Sam asks, voice low and rough. He strokes Jensen’s cock slowly, letting Jensen watch their bodies moving together. Jensen flushes from his chest to the tips of his ears as he shakes his head. 

“No,” he whispers. “No. Please, Sam, I want you to, please--” Jensen’s voice breaks when Sam rubs the puckered skin firmly, teasing, his breath hitching as he begs, “Oh, God, Sam--please, please, I need you to--” 

Sam relents and gives him what he needs, slowly pushing one finger into Jensen’s ass, dropping feverish kisses on Jensen’s temple and throat, anywhere he can reach as Jensen’s whole body goes tight at the intrusion. Sam pushes in deeper, wanting more. He’s already addicted to the feel of Jensen’s body clenched around him, half drunk on the way Jensen gives way so sweetly, the cry Jensen can’t hold back. Sam buries his face in Sam’s hair and loses himself in the pleasure that bursts from them both. 

Finally Jensen collapses against him, completely wrung out. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles dazedly, mouth warm and slack against Sam’s throat. His eyes stay closed as his lips curl up in a satisfied smile. “That was amazing.”

“Mmmm,” Sam agrees. He kisses Jensen lightly as he gently pulls his finger free, absorbing both the shiver that runs through Jensen’s body and the small sound of protest he makes. Afterward Jensen lays sprawled bonelessly against him like a fallen angel, beautiful and perfect and the absolute embodiment of temptation and sin. He smiles up at Sam dreamily, green eyes blinking slowly as his breathing gradually evens out, all but purring as Sam grabs his briefly worn t-shirt and uses it to clean them up, gentle and easy.

“That’s my t-shirt,” Jensen says mildly when Sam drops it on the far side of the bed. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, smiling down at him. He’s more than a little enthralled with this version of Jensen, so warm and lax and open. “Come on, time for bed, I think.” 

That gets Jensen’s attention. His eyes move to the other bed then back to Sam’s face. 

“Did he sleep with you?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Sometimes,” Sam says easily, giving Jensen an out if he wants one. “You can if you want to, but I won’t mind if you don’t. It can be a little strange if you aren’t used to it.” 

Jensen nods, a hint of relief in his expression as he wriggles back into his sweats. He climbs out of Sam’s bed and slouches across the three feet to his own. Sam follows him, helping him fight the blankets until he’s tucked snugly underneath. He turns back to his own bed, but Jensen stops him.

“Sam.” Jensen sits up and tugs Sam down to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

Sam can’t help smiling. “Good night, Jensen,” he says quietly. He pushes down the faint twinge of regret--he misses waking up with someone, but the last thing he wants to do is push Jensen into something he’s not ready for. He turns off the TV and slides under his own blankets, happier than he’s been since Dean disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just PWP.

Even alone, Sam sleeps better than he has in months, waking up refreshed and energized. Jensen is still sleeping, thick lashes casting heavy shadows on his cheeks, chest rising and falling in a deep, satisfying rhythm. Sam feels a wash of fiercely protective love wash through him like deja vu and he shoves it away, shocked. _He’s not Dean,_ Sam reminds himself. But it’s hard to remember that when he’s been here before, this exact situation. When he grew up living this moment on a daily basis. Sam shakes his head to clear it and quickly changes into a pair of running shorts. He leaves a note on the table for Jensen and heads out for a morning run before the sun comes out and turns even the slightest exertion into sweat soaked misery.

The day is just starting to heat up when Sam gets back to the motel, sweaty and loose and feeling remarkably better for a little healthy exercise. He unlocks the motel door, smiling to himself, his mind turning over ideas and thoughts and possibilities instead of going around in endless circles the way it’s been since Dean disappeared. He’s more than ready to grab a quick shower and hit the road, looking forward to having time to think and plan, until he sees Jensen. 

The boy is sitting on Sam’s bed, bare legs folded underneath him as he reads. He’s wearing one of Sam’s t-shirts, so big the neckline is sliding off one freckled shoulder, clearly exposing the purpling bruise Sam had left right above his collarbone the night before. As Sam watches he bites down on the highlighter in his right hand, sucking on the cap in a way that makes his plump lips purse obscenely. Sam must make some kind of sound, nothing intelligent as all the blood in his body is currently fattening his dick, but loud enough that Jensen looks up, smiling. 

His smile fades when he sees Sam’s expression, turning guilty. “Sam, hey. I--uh...I had to borrow one of your t-shirts, all my stuff is dirty…” He flushes, pink creeping up over his cheeks and highlighting the points of his ears at the thought of _why_ his clothes from last night are dirty. 

Sam makes another sound that wants to be words, then clears his throat and tries again, forcing his brain to move past _mine mine mine_ and back into rational thought. “No, it’s fine, I just--I wasn’t--I didn’t realize you were out. Of laundry, I mean--” 

Jensen looks at him, brow slightly furrowed as Sam’s stammering trails off. His eyes drift over Sam’s exposed arms and chest appreciatively, then lower, widening when they reach the increasingly obvious line in Sam’s running shorts. 

“Oh,” he breathes, flush darkening just a little as his breathing speeds up. The book he was reading falls to the bed, forgotten, as he gets up on his hands and knees and slowly crawls to the foot of the bed. He stops at the edge, sitting back on his heels with his legs spread wide and his hands on his thighs, tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he looks at Sam shyly.

“ _Fuck_ ”, Sam says raggedly. He crosses the room slowly, unable to look away from the temptation Jensen presents. The borrowed t-shirt hangs low over Jensen’s hips, hiding his ass from Sam’s eyes, but Sam can see the outline of Jensen’s cock starting to push at the worn material. There’s a spot of dampness forming where the head must be, darkening the fabric. Jensen bites his lip and deliberately leans back on his hands, letting his shirt ride up just enough to hint at the warm darkness between his thighs. 

Sam stops in front of Jensen, one shaky hand coming up to stroke his cheek. He follows the line of Jensen’s jaw down to the purple mark he’d sucked into Jensen’s skin the night before, right above his racing pulse. 

“I like it,” Jensen whispers, eyes huge and dark as they meet Sam’s. He lifts his hand to cover Sam’s, forcing Sam’s fingers into the bruise. His lashes flutter, eyes half closed on a soft moan as his knees slip further apart. Jensen’s other hand moves to slowly rub his dick where it’s caught in the fabric of Sam’s t-shirt, full body shudder running through him as he presses Sam’s fingers into the bruise on his neck in time with his strokes. “I...I came--” his breath catches as his fingers rub harder over the head through the coarse material and Sam digs his fingers in harder as he palms himself through his shorts. “In the shower--just like this--thinking about you like this--” Jensen’s breath comes in short, hard pants as he stares up at Sam almost worshipfully. 

“Show me,” Sam says hoarsely. He tugs on the shirt, pulling the front up enough to let him see Jensen’s cock, slim and beautiful and already wet, then pulling it off altogether. Jensen blushes, his head falling back slightly as he wraps his hand around himself, lips parting on a gasp. 

Sam falls to his knees, pulling Jensen’s hand away from his dick and staring up at him as he leans forward to drag his tongue up the length. The taste of precome, salty and bitter, explodes in his mouth as Jensen gives a strangled moan above him that might be _Sam_. Sam laps at the head, at the clear fluid leaking out, wanting more, wanting everything, his own dick twitching with every soft, panting moan dripping like honey from those sinfully beautiful lips. He slides his hand between those beautiful thighs, finding Jensen’s hole and rubbing over it. Jensen shudders all over and bears down on Sam’s hand, desperate for more. 

Jensen’s hand tangles in Sam’s hair, pulling almost painfully tight, pinpricks of pleasure/pain tingling down Sam’s spine and making his cock pulse and throb as Jensen’s hips pump helplessly, painting Sam’s lips and cheeks with shiny trails of precome.

“Oh God,” Jensen moans, “Sam--” He tugs on Sam’s hair, pulling him up, and Sam goes willingly, catching Jensen’s lips in a crushing kiss as he pushes Jensen back onto the bed. Jensen’s eyes are wide and dark, almost frantic as Sam shoves his shorts off, kicking them away as he kneels over Jensen. 

“Is this what you imagined?” Sam asks, fingers finding the darkening bruise on Jensen’s throat again, panting with the effort of holding himself back. “Is this what you wanted?”

Jensen nods frantically, one hand clutching Sam’s wrist like he thinks Sam might pull away. “Please,” he whispers. “I want--” 

Before Sam can ask, Jensen’s hand is wrapped around him, one long stroke from root to tip. Jensen squeezes gently under the head the way Sam had done to him the night before, watching Sam’s face avidly with wide, hungry eyes. Sam groans raggedly, falling forward to kiss Jensen messy and deep, hips driving into the circle of Jensen’s hand with a deep, tearing gasp. Jensen shivers underneath him, each press of Sam’s fingers dragging hitched moans from his bruised throat that rasp across Sam’s nerves like fire. 

“Fuck--” Sam drops his forehead to rest against Jensen’s, breathing in Jensen’s scent like he needs it to live. He’s already close, so close, heat pooling at the base of his spine, spreading and growing as they move together.

“Sam,” Jensen whispers, voice raw and rough as he strains against Sam’s hand. “Sam, please--”

Sam comes in a hot rush, spilling across Jensen’s hand, across his face and throat. Sam’s fingers lock tighter and Jensen clutches at Sam’s hand with both of his as he sucks in a ragged, choking breath and comes untouched, body arching underneath Sam’s with a low, raw cry that drags another wave of pleasure out of Sam, leaving him gasping and spent. His hand falls away from Jensen’s throat and Jensen moans, hands digging into Sam’s thighs now as he pulls Sam closer. Sam gives in, let’s Jensen guide him forward until Jensen can draw him in, lick and suck him clean until at last Sam has to pull away, pleasure bordering on pain.

“Saaaaam,” Jensen pleads when Sam sits back, panting, but doesn’t object again when Sam falls to the bed next to him. He licks his lips, eyes falling half closed as he sucks his fingers clean, and Sam’s cock gives one last almost painful throb as he shifts so he can kiss the taste of himself out of Jensen’s mouth.

“ _Jesus,_ Jensen whispers when Sam pulls back enough that he can catch his breath. “That was...intense.” He shivers slightly, then grins. “I guess you don’t really mind me wearing your shirts?”

Sam smiles back, feeling a bone deep satisfaction wash through him as Jensen shifts to lay a little closer, his head very close to lying on Sam’s shoulder. Sam gathers him in without comment, enjoying the weight and warmth of him. “I guess not. I wasn’t quite expecting...that.” He hesitates, not sure how much he wants to share, how much Jensen wants to hear, then just goes with it. “It’s been quite awhile since someone I was….involved with wore something of mine like that. I’d forgotten how much I liked it.” 

“Your partner didn’t like to?” Jensen asks, curious. 

“We weren’t really the right sizes, most of the time,” Sam tells him, shrugging a little bit. “Dean and I...we’re different shapes, I guess you’d say. I think you’ll probably outgrow being able to wear them comfortably too one day.” 

“Dean. I like that name.” Jensen’s eyes droop a little, and he yawns, curling up against Sam for a catnap. Sam watches him drowse, marveling at how young and innocent he looks. Dean had looked this way once, too, Sam knows, but he himself was too young at the time to understand--he saw Dean as vastly more grown up and knowledgeable at this age. He was Sam’s rock, and the suddenly longing to see Dean--his Dean--again, sweeps through him. Sam closes his eyes against the sudden ache in his chest. He’ll find Dean. He’ll bring him back. He won’t let himself fail this time, no matter what he has to do. 

For now, though, he still has things to do here. He lets himself do what he didn’t allow himself to do before--he kisses Jensen’s forehead gently before carefully sliding his arm free from the boy’s weight, and tosses his messy, sweaty clothes in the direction of his bag on the way to the bathroom. He brings a warm washcloth back out with him and runs it over Jensen’s chest and face carefully. Jensen lets him, scrunching up his face and smiling as Sam takes care of him. He seems to sense how important this is to Sam and Sam’s heart aches with how much he wants and needs from Jensen, and with how much he misses Dean. 

Jensen opens his eyes as Sam finishes and stretches, one hand coming up to finger the bruise on his neck again. Sam winces in sympathy, pulling Jensen’s hand away and looking more closely at the angry purple mark, now noticeably larger than before. The skin around it is slightly reddened as well, and Sam feels a rush of guilt for losing control. He starts to speak but Jensen interrupts before he can apologize. 

“It’s okay,” Jensen says, smiling up at him. “It kind of aches, but I Iike it. It kind of feels good, too.” His smile turns a little shy. “I liked that, a lot. I didn’t know 

Sam leans in to gently brush his lips over the mark, enjoying the shiver that runs through Jensen at his touch. “All right. I’ll try not to worry about it,” he promises. “But we’ll have to keep it covered up--which means your t-shirts, not mine.” 

Jensen pretends to pout, but he can’t hide his smile as Sam heads for the shower.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains homophobic slurs and violence against a minor (Jensen).

 

Once they’re both cleaned up, Sam takes stock of his own laundry situation. He tosses another t-shirt on the bed for Jensen, _just for now_ and puts on what’s left--a pair of jeans with both knees torn out and a t-shirt so worn that the band it was made to commemorate is lost to the sands of time. 

It feels strangely intimate to be going through and washing Jensen’s things. An odd choice of words given what they’ve done together, Sam thinks as he separates everything into lights and darks, but it is. His things and Jensen’s, mingled together. Evidence of the things they’ve done together--grass stains, dirt, come--and Sam is washing it all away so that they can do new things together. It puts Sam in a strange mood by the time he finishes, uncomfortably aware that he's only known this boy, this _child_ , for two days, yet the attraction he feels toward him, the desire to protect him and keep him safe, is nearly overwhelming. Intellectually, Sam knows he should be concerned, but his connection to Jensen feels so _right_ , so natural, that he’s finding it hard to question. 

Sam decides to do some research and run a few more tests, just to be on the safe side, a decision that leaves him feeling more settled in his skin. He picks up more pizza on the way back to the motel, already looking forward to seeing Jensen and discussing where they're going to go and what they’re going to do next. 

All of that disappears when Sam opens the door to the room and steps inside. Time stops as Sam tries to make sense of what he's seeing--Jensen huddled on the floor, arms wrapped defensively around himself--a tall, well built older man in a suit standing over him, shouting soundlessly--Sam's breath pluming in front of him as he takes in the sudden bitter cold. It's only a split second, but long enough for the man--the _ghost_ , Sam realizes--to draw back his foot and kick Jensen, catching him on the thigh and knocking him over. The man becomes solid when he makes contact with Jensen, and Sam hears the words he's spitting at the boy over Jensen’s pained cry. 

_little faggot_  
_beat the devil_  
_not my grandson_

Sam drops the food and laundry he's carrying and turns, falling to his knees to scoop together a handful of the salt barring the door. He notes as he does that the line is scuffed right through, and then he's turning back to throw what he'd gathered at the furious spirit. The ghost screams soundlessly, rage and malice pouring off of him into the frigid air as he disappears.

Sam rushes to where Jensen is lying on the floor. “Jensen,” he says urgently. “Jensen, can you hear me?” He shakes Jensen’s shoulder gently and Jensen looks at him blankly, no recognition in his eyes, and then his expression clears. 

“Sam?” he as tremulously. Tears streak down his face. “What happened? Where is he? Did--did you make him go away?”

“Shh,” Sam says soothingly. “He's gone for now, but he may come back.” Jensen’s expression turns panicked. “No, it's all right,” Sam reassures him, stroking his hair and speaking firmly. He smiles down at Jensen as best he can. “I can protect you, but I need you to do what I tell you. Can you do that?”

Jensen nods hesitantly. “Okay,” he says softly. Then, more loudly, “What do you need me to do?” 

Sam smiles at him again, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. “Just stay right here. I'm going to put a ring of salt around you, and I need you to stay inside until I say it's safe to come out.” 

Jensen looks confused but he doesn't move. “Salt?” he asks, bewildered. “What--”

“Please, just trust me, Jensen, okay?”

Jensen nods hesitantly and Sam digs a box of salt out of his bag, working fast to create a large ring around Jensen. “I’m going out to the car for some weapons,” Sam tells Jensen. “Stay in the ring. Don’t come out until I tell you to, no matter what. Okay?”

The terror in Jensen’s eyes doesn’t lessen. He looks up at Sam, begging him silently not to go, not to leave him, and it’s all Sam can do to pull away. Jensen’s expression crumbles, tears filling his eyes again, but Sam doesn’t stay to wipe them away. He goes back to the car, grabbing another full box of salt and an iron bar out of the trunk. He’d rather have his shotgun, but he doesn’t want to frighten Jensen any more than he already has or draw the kind of attention that gunshots inevitably bring. 

When Sam opens the door, a wave of intense cold hits him. The man he’d seen before is back, pacing angrily around the circle where Jensen is kneeling, eyes clenched shut, hands over his ears. Sam can’t hear what the man is saying, but it’s clear Jensen can. Tears run down Jensen’s face, but he stays perfectly still in the salt circle as Sam had told him and the ghost ignores Sam in favor of tormenting Jensen. It only takes a moment for Sam to swing the rod and disperse the ghost, then quickly bar the door with the salt he’d brought in from the car. He immediately returns to Jensen’s side, falling to his knees besides the shaking boy and pulling him into his arms. 

Finally Jensen calms down enough to understand what Sam needs to tell him. 

“I know you probably have a lot of questions. But they need to wait until I find out what’s going on. Okay?” Jensen nods, still trembling, his eyes never leaving Sam.

“Okay. Can I--should I--” Jensen fumbles for words, still reeling from shock and pain. 

“You need to stay right here, in your circle,” Sam tells him firmly. He tilts Jensen’s face up to his, catching his eyes and making sure he’s paying attention. “He shouldn’t be able to get back in, but until we know for sure what we’re dealing with, better safe than sorry.” 

Jensen nods one more time. “I’ll stay here,” he whispers. “Til you tell me to come out.”

“Good,” Sam says softly. “You’re doing so good, Jensen. I’m going to pack up our things in case we have to leave quickly, okay? It will just take a minute.”

“‘Kay.” Jensen lets go of Sam reluctantly, curling in on himself as soon as they aren’t touching.  
Sam kisses him again, gently, and stands, moving quickly around the room gathering his and Jensen’s belongings. It doesn’t take long--neither of them have much to pack, especially since all their clothing is still in Sam’s bag. He takes out a newly washed pair of boxers and jeans and hands them go Jensen so he can get dressed while Sam packs everything else up and sits it by the door in case they have to leave. An unreal feeling of deja vu washes through him--how many times has he done this with Dean? Even as a kid, they couldn’t always pay their motel bill--Sam couldn’t count the number of times they’d skipped out in the middle of the day or night, leaving nothing behind but broken salt lines and the occasional stray sock. Sam jerks himself back to the present, reminding himself that he has a job to do here and now, and a terrified kid to comfort. 

When he’s finished packing, Sam is relieved to see that Jensen seems calmer and more focused. He’s gotten dressed, but he still has tear stains on his face, and Sam gets a warm cloth from the bathroom so that Jensen can clean them away as Sam makes one more quick circuit of the room, double checking his salt lines and pulling out a marker to draw a few protective wards and sigils on the walls and windows. When he circles back to Jensen, the boy smiles at him weakly. 

“Can we go now?” Jensen asks. He shivers, even though Sam can't feel the ghostly chill the spirit seems to bring with him. 

Sam hesitates. “I know this won’t be easy, Jensen, but I think we need to stay here until we figure out what’s going on. This room is well warded, and if this spirit is somehow connected to this room or this town--”

“It’s not,” Jensen says softly, voice trembling. He can’t bring himself to look at Sam, shrinking in on himself the way he had at the park. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but I thought you’d think I was crazy, like everyone else.” Tears shimmer in his eyes, and Sam wants nothing more than to step into the circle and hold him until this is all better. But that’s not the way these things work. 

Instead, Sam holds out his hand to Jensen, still gripping the iron rod firmly in the other. Jensen takes Sam's hand hesitantly, torn between wanting the comfort Sam is offering and fear that the ghost will come back. Sam waits patiently, and finally Jensen steps over the thin white line, careful not to break it. Jensen breathes a sigh of relief when the ghost doesn’t immediately reappear and throws himself into Sam’s arms. Sam drops the iron rod and wraps himself around Jensen as though he can protect him with his own body. Unfortunately, that’s not the way things work either. They have to figure out who this spirit is and what it wants before they can move on. 

Finally, Sam pulls back a little, looking down at Jensen. “Are you alright?” he asks. “It looked like you took a pretty good hit.” 

Jensen shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he whispers, voice trembling. “He only hit me once this time.” 

_This time._

Sam closes his eyes against the rage bubbling up inside him, forcing himself to stay calm. The last thing he wants to do is frighten Jensen more than he already is, and he’s not sure he can hide how angry the thought of someone hurting Jensen makes him. He hugs Jensen tight again then leads him over to the bed. 

Jensen is still shivering with shock, so Sam pulls the comforter around them both, settling them down against the headboard. Jensen leans into him, seeking comfort, and Sam wraps one arm around him, pulling him close and tangling their fingers together as he soaks in Jensen’s warmth and affection. It’s hard not to remember the past, the few times Dean had let him this close, but he forces himself out of memory and turns his attention back to giving Jensen what he needs.

Jensen doesn’t speak for awhile. He just clings to Sam, eyes closed, as Sam rubs his back and thinks about what little he saw and heard. Finally, Sam feels Jensen take a deep breath. 

“It’s okay if you just want me to leave,” he says quietly, miserably. “I--I know it’s not right--I shouldn’t have--” His voice hitches unevenly. “You could have gotten hurt and it’s all my fault.”

Of all the things Sam expected to hear, that wasn’t even on the list. “What? Jensen, no. That’s the last thing I want to do.” He presses a kiss to the top of Jensen’s head, hugging him tighter. “You’re in trouble, and believe it or not I’ve got a pretty good idea of how to help.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the real truth in the park yesterday,” Jensen admits, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “The last few weeks have been so...so _awful_ and crazy that I can hardly even believe it myself. No one at home believed me either, so I never thought...it never occurred to me that you might. When _he_ didn’t show up that first night I thought maybe he was gone, that I’d left him behind. Or that they were all right and I _was_ just imagining things and hurting myself like everyone said.” A tear slips down his cheek. “I kind of wish that was true. It might be better.”

Sam wipes away the tear with his thumb, tilting Jensen’s face up to his. 

“Listen to me,” Sam says with quiet determination. “Not only are you not crazy, but apparently someone out there is looking out for you.” He ruffles Jensen’s hair, looking for a smile, and he gets one. It’s tremulous and a little scared, but it’s there, and Sam can’t help but admire Jensen’s courage--Sam has known grown men and women who haven’t handled a brush with the supernatural nearly this well. “This is going to sound crazy, but helping people like you, people who are in trouble with no one to believe them--well, that’s kind of what Dean and I do. We’ve been doing it our whole lives. If anyone can help you work this out, it’s me.”

Jensen’s expression is a mix of disbelief and hope. “If someone is looking out for me, that would be a first,” he says, shaking his head. He looks up at Jared with a ghost of his usual smirk. “But if it’s true, if you _can_ help me, then that’s just one more reason I’m glad you tried to kill me.” 

Sam squeezes his hand gently. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, Jensen,” he promises softly and Jensen nods. 

“Then I guess I better start at the beginning,” he says, his voice gone small and thin again. “I think I owe you that much, after dropping this on you out of the blue and almost getting you killed.” 

“Turn about is fair play,” Sam says, deadpan, and Jensen’s smile gets a little bigger. “Seriously, I think that’s a good idea. As much as you’re comfortable with. Any information you can give me will help, even if it doesn’t seem important.”

Jensen nods, determination firming his voice. “It started a couple of weeks ago, when I decided it was time I told my parents about...about what I am. What's wrong with me. They didn't like it very much. I didn't want them to tell anyone else but they said they had to tell the pastor and the elders.” Another tear slips down his cheek and he wipes it away without thinking. “After that, everything just kind of fell apart.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional abuse, explicit homophobia, internalized homophobia, and attempted non-con in this chapter. Please consider the warnings carefully!

 

“It started a few weeks ago,” Jensen begins, speaking softly. “I--I told my parents about...how I am.”

 

“We can't keep something like this a secret, Jensen,” Donna says, distaste twisting her pretty face, and Jensen's father, Alan, nods sharply in agreement. “It's a sin. And the other parents have a right to know what their children have been _exposed_ to.”

“I never told anyone else,” Jensen protests weakly. He knows it's a lost cause, but he'd hoped…

“It's doesn't matter who you've told...son.” Jensen hates the way the word sticks in his father's throat, as though it pains him to say it now. “What matters is that you can't spread this--this _perversion_ if the pastor and the elders are aware and able to take precautions. You can't be allowed attend Sunday school or sing in the choir under these circumstances, and the rest of the church deserves to know why, since they'll have to take over for you.”

Jensen nods numbly. _It won't be that bad,_ he tells himself. _It can't be._

“Go on up to your room now, Jensen,” his mother says curtly. “Your father and I need to talk, and I suggest you spend the time praying for God's forgiveness.” Her tone suggests that God's forgiveness is the only one he can expect.

The next week is fraught with uneasy calm. Jensen goes to school as normal, but he's expected to spend his free time afterward studying the Bible and praying while his family pretends he doesn't exist. His parents turn his friends away when they try to call or visit, and his brother and sister don’t know anything except that he’s in trouble. When MacKenzie sneaks into Jensen’s room to talk to him, their mother drags her away immediately, nearly hysterical. The isolation and tension are exhausting, even for such a short time, and despite his fear of what's to come he's relieved when his parents call him down to his father's study. 

His father begins without preamble.

“Jensen, your mother and I have spoken with Pastor Williams. We've prayed together these past few days, hoping for a solution.”

Jensen can't help cringing inwardly. He doesn't like Pastor Williams, even though the man has never been anything but polite and friendly. But something about the way his pale, watery blue eyes follow Jensen around has always made Jensen uncomfortable, and he finds himself dreading his father's words. 

But it's Jensen's mother who speaks. “Pastor Williams wants to speak with you privately tonight,” she tells him. Jensen thinks he sees a hint of discomfort in her face, but her next words dash any faint hope he might have had that she might be an ally. “Just do as he says and I'm sure he can help you. Then no one else has to know about any of this unpleasantness. We can just go back to being a healthy, happy family again.” Donna smiles at him brightly, but there's no warmth, only a plastic brittleness that Jensen had never noticed before.

Alan nods, his distaste evident. “And if Pastor Williams is not able to persuade you, there are other methods. He told us about a camp he runs that we can send you to this summer. They can… _fix_ people like you.” Alan hesitates, and Jensen sees something that might be compassion in his eyes. “We know you aren't doing this on purpose, Jensen. You've always been a good boy. We've always been proud to call you our son. But this...we can't tolerate this. It's too much. We wouldn't be good parents if we didn't do everything we can to help you.”

Jensen just nods, feeling numb. His father is an actor and public speaker; he chooses his words carefully and Jensen hears what he's saying very clearly. 

“I'll be good,” Jensen promises, trying to keep the wobble in his voice under control. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

Alan claps Jensen on the shoulder, smiling down at him with cold, hard eyes. “I know you will, son.” The word comes more easily to him now--just part of his ‘stern yet caring father’ role, Jensen thinks bitterly. 

They leave for the meeting not long afterwards, and when they arrive Pastor Williams is just as creepy as ever. He ushers them inside, escorting Jensen’s parents to the living room with drinks and an offer of television if they’d like. He keeps his hand on Jensen’s shoulder the whole time, bleeding warm dampness through his shirt. It’s all Jensen can do not to shudder in disgust. 

Once Alan and Donna are settled, Pastor Williams _call me John, I insist_ urges Jensen to have a seat on the couch in his study, then sits next to him, far closer than Jensen likes. The hot press of his thigh against Jensen’s makes Jensen uneasy, but he’s trapped between Pastor Williams and the side of the couch. 

“So, Jensen.” Pastor Williams smiles down at Jensen, one hand coming to rest on Jensen’s knee. “I understand you’ve been having some very inappropriate thoughts about the boys at school and at church.”

Jensen stares at his hands, beyond mortified. He wishes Pastor Williams would move away, but instead, he puts arm around Jensen's shoulders, pulling him even closer. A foul, sickening odor envelopes Jensen, and he recoils slightly as he realizes it’s coming from the man next to him. Pastor Williams tightens his grip on Jensen's shoulder, holding him in place as Jensen tries not to gag.

“It’s alright, Jensen,” he says, his voice dripping insincerity. “I understand what you’re going through. I've had thoughts like that myself, more than once.” His hand slides off Jensen’s knee and up his thigh, and Jensen feels a shock of revulsion ring through him. 

“I - I don't understand,” Jensen stutters, trying to pull away. The hand on his thigh clamps down, and now panic is nibbling at the corners of his mind, urging him to get _up,_ get _away._

“Of course you do, Jensen,” Pastor Williams says, eyes glittering. “A boy like you, so pretty, so _dirty_ , you know exactly what I want.“ He leans toward Jensen, so close that Jensen can feel his breath sticky hot and reeking on his skin.

“No!” Jensen wants to shout, tries to shout, but his throat is dry, closed so tight it comes out a whimper. He tries to pull away but there's nowhere to go, trapped between the arm of the couch and the man looming over him. “No,” Jensen whimpers again, a sob fighting free from his throat as he feel hot wet lips fasten onto his throat right above his pulse.

A burst of strength surges through Jensen at the touch and he shoves Pastor Williams away from him. His throat clicks dryly as he staggers backward, still trying to scream even though he can't seem to make his lungs work. His back hits the door, knob digging painfully into his spine. He scrabbles at it frantically, but the door won't open, knob turning uselessly in his fingers.

Pastor Williams stands up, running his hands through his sandy blonde hair and straightening his suit as he slowly approaches the terrified boy. His face is twisted in fury but that isn't what frightens Jensen most. The watery blue eyes that Jensen has felt crawling over him for years are gone, buried under beetle black that covers his eyes completely. Jensen's throat finally unlocks enough to scream and he does, turning to grasp the doorknob with both hands as he tries desperately to force the door open.

“Aw, don't run off, baby,” the nightmare behind him whispers in his ear, right before Jensen feels pressure in the middle of his back, slamming him into the door. It drives the air from his lungs, and his next gasping breath reeks of rotten eggs and spoiled meat as Pastor Williams flattens himself against Jensen’s back. 

“Stop,” Jensen begs, choking on the foul air and his own sobs. “Please let me go.”

“Not yet, pretty,” the thing croons in his ear. “You have something I want, and I'm going to get it.”

Terror gives Jensen strength he didn’t know he had. He shoves back from the door, slamming his head back into the thing behind him. He hears it shouting behind him, but the words are lost to the dull roar in Jensen’s head as he realizes the door is finally unstuck. Jensen staggers into the hallway, drawing in huge gasps of clean air, barely able to see through his tears. His mother and father are already on their feet when he stumbles into the living room, alarmed by the noise. 

“Mom,” Jensen sobs. “Mom, he--he--” Jensen can’t bring himself to say the words, but he can’t miss the concerned look that passes between his parents as his mother puts her arms around him.

“Alan--”

“Good Lord!” Jensen and Donna both look up at Alan’s exclamation. Pastor Williams is standing in the doorway, disheveled and bleeding. “Jensen, what did you do?” Alan asks, appalled. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Pastor Williams says, voice raw and pained. “But I’m very disturbed by Jensen’s behavior, I have to say--”

“No,” Jensen says, panicked. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything! He wanted me to--to--” Jensen tries to cling to his mother but she pushes him back to look him in the eye. 

“Jensen. Did you do this? Did you _attack_ Pastor Williams?” She shakes his shoulders none too gently.

“He said he wanted something from me! He put his hands on m-m-me and he wasn’t supposed to!” Jensen knows he’s not making sense, but he can’t help it. This is a nightmare and he can’t wake up.

Pastor Williams continues as though Jensen hadn't spoken. “Alan, Donna. I'm afraid this is far worse than we thought. Your son has been possessed by a demon of lust.” 

There's a moment of stunned silence. 

“A...demon?” Donna asks hesitantly. “But...that's not real. Demons are just a figure of speech, they aren't real.”

“I'm afraid demons are very real, Donna.” He shakes his head gravely. “The only way to save your son is to pray the demon out, an exorcism if you will. Once the demon has been released, we'll send the boy to the camp I told you about.” The thing pretending to be Pastor Williams smiles at Jensen coldly. “That way I'll be able to oversee his training personally, so that no demon will ever be able to enter him again.”

“Mom,” Jensen begs, voice shattered. “Mom, no. Please don't let him hurt me. Please don't send me away!”

Dona takes a deep breath. “Alan, I think we need to talk about this.” She looks at Pastor Williams pointedly. “In _private._ ”

Pastor Williams raises his hands placatingly. “Please feel free to discuss this, Donna. And be aware that if Jensen does choose to be rid of his demon and attend my camp, there will of course be no need to involve the police.”

A look of horror crosses Donna’s face. “The _police_?”

Pastor Williams nods regretfully then winces, deliberately raising his hand to his swollen, bloody nose. “I’m sorry, Donna, but your son _assaulted_ me. I can’t allow this sort of behavior to go both untreated and unpunished. I’ll let your family make the choice of how to proceed.”

Alan grabs Donna’s arm and pulls her to the far corner of the room. The whisper furiously back and forth, but the only thing Jensen can make out is _Alan, no!_. Jensen doesn’t want to look, but his eyes are reluctantly drawn to Pastor Williams, standing a few feet away. The man smiles at him almost menacingly, but even worse is when his eyes change to the same shiny black they’d been in his study. Jensen makes a sound of raw terror, scrambling to back away, but Pastor Williams just winks at him, taking a step forward to lean in and whisper. 

“Don’t worry, Jensen. I’ll take good care of you at camp.”

The room spins around Jensen as he stumbles back, dizzy with terror. The last thing he hears is his father say, “Donna, go pick up Josh, he's old enough to help with this. “

Jensen’s voice grinds to a halt, dry and cracked. Sam doesn’t--can’t--say anything. Jensen hasn’t even gotten to the part he needs to hear, and Sam is already speechless with rage. He breathes deeply, trying to calm himself before responding. 

“Jensen, I--”

“Please don’t say I’m lying, or making it up,” Jensen whispers, voice thick with tears. He buries his face in Sam’s shoulder, and Sam can feel the dampness seeping through his t-shirt. 

Sam closes his eyes and presses a quick kiss to Jensen’s hair. “I believe you,” he says firmly. “You know why? Because I know what happened, and what your pastor really was.”

Jensen sits back, startled, staring up at Sam with hope in his eyes. “Really?” His voice cracks again, desperation and fear bleeding through. 

Sam wipes Jensen’s face gently with the corner of the comforter. “Really. It’s ironic that he would accuse you of being possessed by a demon when that’s exactly what happened to him.” 

“Demons are real?” 

Sam snorts a laugh at Jensen’s incredulous tone. 

“You’ve seen a ghost,” he points out. “Are demons so much harder to believe in?” 

“I guess you’re right,” Jensen admits. “It’s just so crazy. A month ago I would have laughed at anyone who tried to tell me a story like this.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Sam tells him seriously. “You shouldn’t feel bad at all. Most people go their entire lives without ever seeing or hearing anything supernatural. That’s why those that do so often don’t survive.” 

Jensen exhales slowly. “That makes sense, I guess.”

Sam hugs him again, wishing there was some way he could ease the pain still coloring Jensen’s voice. “And Jensen. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I don’t know you very well yet, but there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Your parents are wrong to treat you like this.” He tilts Jensen’s face up to his, forcing Jensen to meet his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong or evil about being gay. You don’t need to be fixed. I hate that anyone made you feel like that, because you don’t deserve it. No one does.” 

Jensen closes his eyes, tears leaking out the corners. “I should tell you the rest of the story,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “There’s still stuff you need to know.”

“Why don’t we take a break first?” Sam suggests. He doesn’t want to push Jensen too hard, and he’s not sure how much he can take right now either without getting back in the car and driving back to Richardson for a therapy session of his own. “I brought back a perfectly good pizza earlier.” 

But Jensen shakes his head. “I just want to get it over with,” he says. “I need a drink, though.”

“Little young for that, aren't you?” Sam teases, eyebrows arched, and Jensen gives him a tiny smile.

“Asshole,” he says. “Water? Or maybe something with caffeine. I never got my coffee this morning.” For a moment he sounds so sulky-teenager that Sam can't help laughing, especially since Dean was--is, Sam corrects himself--the same way.

“I think there's some instant in the trunk if you’re really dying for a fix, but I’m not sure it’s still usable,” Sam says, laughing. He extricates himself from the blankets and Jensen reluctantly as Jensen heads for the bathroom. Sam hears the sink as he's rummaging through the cooler and his heart squeezes in sympathy for everything Jensen has gone through. He hates making Jensen relive it all, but he has to know what they're up against. 

Jensen comes back out, face scrubbed clean, eyes red but dry.

“Feeling better?” Sam asks.

Jensen nods. “Caffeine?” he asks hopefully, and Sam laughs, handing him a can of Red Bull. “Best I can do for now.”

Jensen takes the can gratefully. “It’ll do.” He looks around. “I’m guessing there’s not a Starbucks in the lobby, huh?” 

Sam smiles ruefully. “Probably not. I don’t think high quality coffee really a priority for this fine establishment.”

Jensen sighs dramatically then scrubs at his face, visibly pulling himself together. “Alright. I’m ready, I guess. Can we…” He looks at the bed then back at Sam. 

“Yeah, of course.” Sam drops onto the bed, settling back against the headboard again. He smiles warmly, holding out his hand, and Jensen burrows in next to him. Jensen closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment. 

“Can I tell you something weird?” Jensen asks quietly. “I feel better like this. When I’m touching you. I don’t know why.” He hides his face in Sam’s shoulder, embarrassed. 

Sam puts a finger under Jensen’s chin, tilting his face up and holding his gaze. “It is a little weird,” he agrees, smiling. “But I feel the same way. I’m not sure what it means, honestly. But I like it.”

“Yeah?” Jensen pushes his face into Sam’s shoulder again, but there’s a smile in his voice that’s impossible to miss. 

“Yeah.” Sam looks mock-stern. “Now, I think you have a story to tell me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains child abuse, explicit homophobia and homophobic slurs.

“I should tell you about my grandfather first.” Jensen sighs and rearranges himself and the blankets until he’s lying down with his head on Sam’s thigh, staring up at the ceiling. “He wasn’t a bad man. Really, he wasn’t. He loved all of us, he was a Christian, he always tried to help people.” Jensen blinks up at Sam, eyes shimmering. “I don’t want you to hate him. Or my mom and dad. I know they didn’t want to hurt me.”

“Jensen…” 

“Just try?” Sam can't resist the plea in Jensen’s voice. 

“I'll keep an open mind,” Sam promises, and that seems to satisfy Jensen.

“But he really hated--” Jensen stumbles over the words. “He really hated gay people. It got worse as he got older. He said that we all deserved to die. That AIDS and other diseases were God's punishment and that we were all going to hell because of the innocent people we killed.” Jensen's voice breaks but he goes on, determined to tell his story. 

“I was so afraid he'd find out. I hated lying to my family but he was so angry all the time. Right before he got sick he started talking about how we all need to start doing God's work to rid the world of homosexuality, no matter what the world thought. When he died I felt so guilty because I was relieved that I didn't have to be afraid anymore.”

Sam strokes Jensen's hair, offering what comfort he can as the boy cries silently. After awhile his tears taper off, and he does his best to wipe his face with his t-shirt. 

“Sorry I’m crying so much,” he says miserably. “I just--”

“It's alright,” Sam tells him gently. “I understand how hard all of this is for you. I’m sorry you have to relive all this, but it's important that I know what's really happening. And I want to know so I can help you feel better.”

Jensen shakes his head. “This is so insane. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“It’s hard to wrap your head around, I know. But it’s real. You aren’t crazy. And you did great when the ghost was here--exactly what I needed you to do so that I could protect us. But now...I need you to tell me about what happened when you first saw him.”

Jensen nods, taking a deep breath. He keeps his eyes firmly on the ceiling as he starts his story.

***********************************************************************

It’s dark when Jensen wakes up. He doesn’t know where he is at first and he panics, thrashing frantically. His arm hits something solid and he realizes he isn’t tied down, just tangled in a heap of blankets. Once his vision adjusts a little he can see that he’s home, in his room, with what feels like every blanket in the house heaped on top of him. He shoves them all off and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, staggering a little when he stands up. The lights come on when he flips the switch and he feels absurdly grateful not to be left in the dark, residual terror still humming along his nerves. 

Then he gets to the door. He doesn’t understand, at first, why it doesn’t open, even though the handle slides back and forth in his fingers. A flash of memory overwhelms him, nearly drives him to his knees, Pastor Williams’ thick, cloying reek suddenly clogging his throat and lungs. He screams, banging on the door and rattling the knob futilely. No one comes, and eventually he sinks to the carpet, panting against the door. He hears a rustle from the other side of the door but it doesn’t open. “Mom?” he whispers, voice ruined. “Mom, please.” 

No matter how hard he strains he doesn’t hear anything else. 

Eventually, he gets up, immeasurably grateful that his room has an attached bathroom. He showers, water turned as hot as he can stand it, and huddles under the pile of blankets on his bed until he falls asleep again. 

When Jensen wakes up, his mother is in his room, standing at the foot of his bed with her arms crossed over her chest. Sunlight slants across the floor, indicating that it’s far past the time he normally gets up for school. 

“Mom?” He sits up, struggling again with the blankets. 

“You frightened your sister with your appalling behavior last night,” she says coldly. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Mom, I--”

“You're father and I decided against allowing Pastor Williams to do an exorcism. We just don't hold with that sort of thing in this family, and I wasn't going to let your father drag your brother into this.” She stops, regarding Jensen with cold fury and thin pressed lips. “You'd just better hope we can keep the pastor from filing charges with the police, young man. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” 

“Mom, why didn’t you get me up for school? Why--How was my door locked? What’s going on?” Jensen can hear the panic bleeding through into his voice and tries to stay calm. “I have tests and homework and stuff, I can’t just skip out.”

Donna looks briefly concerned. “Your father and I couldn’t wake you up when you got home last night so we decided to give you a day to rest and think about what you’ve done. The bolt on your door is to protect your brother and sister from the kind of behavior you showed at Pastor Williams’ house and to prevent any sort of panic--not that it did any good,” she adds disapprovingly. 

Jensen swallows hard, trying to understand, trying to think. “Can--can I at least get my homework from my friends?” he asks finally, grasping for some kind of normality. “I don’t want to get too far behind. I can call Chris to bring it over this afternoon.”

Donna’s face hardens again. “I don’t think you’ll need your phone,” she says curtly. “Or your laptop--your father and I collected them last night while you were...sleeping. I think you need to pray and study your Bible, particularly what it says about respecting your elders and sins of the flesh. I’ll call Chris’s mother and have him bring your work to me.” She steps forward and Jensen flinches back from the anger and disapproval radiating from her, afraid to meet her eyes. He notices the book she’d brought with her when she lays it reverently on the foot of his bed, but he doesn’t recognize it until she speaks again.

“This Bible belonged to your grandfather,” she says coldly. “I suggest you also think about how disappointed he’d be in your choices if he knew what you’d become.”

With that, she leaves, closing the door hard behind her and leaving Jensen in shocked silence. The bolt on the door slides home, and Jensen hears her heavy tread fade away down the hallway. He picks up his grandfather’s Bible in a daze, the leather worn thin and soft and somehow cold. It falls open to a passage in the Old Testament, one of his grandfather's favorites. 

Jensen closes the book and hides it away in his nightstand. He already knows that passage by heart. 

The day passes slowly. Jensen tries to read, but he can't concentrate. The words are just a blur, incomprehensible, as his mind circles back to Pastor Williams’ house over and over. Finally, he just throws himself on his bed with his ipod and drifts. 

It's after 2pm before anyone comes back. Donna rushes in with a paper plate bearing a PBJ and a snack sized bag of chips. “I had to leave work for this,” she says angrily. “I hope you're happy.”

“Mom, just let me out,” he pleads. “I can make my own lunch and go to school, nothing will happen, I swear.” His voice shakes alarmingly. “I'll be good.”

Donna sighs, softening slightly. “I know you think that, Jensen,” she says, trying to be kind. “But look what happened last night. Pastor Williams is opening a special session of his camp soon just for you. Once you come back we can put all this behind us, alright?” She kisses the air near Jensen’s forehead, unwilling to smear her lipstick. “Now just be quiet and maybe your father will agree to let you come down for dinner.” 

Despair washes through Jensen as the door clicks shut behind her. The sound of the bolt sliding shut sends chills up and down his spine and he shivers. It's another moment before he realizes that his room is _freezing_ , that he can see his breath in the air, then a rough hand grabs him by the back of the neck. Icy fingers dig into his skin, so cold it burns. 

“Abomination,” a voice hisses in his ear, terribly familiar. “God’s wrath will fall on you and his vengeance will be great and terrible.” 

Then it’s gone. Jensen sobs, falling to his knees in shock. There’s no one else in the room. The door is locked and bolted. He wants to think he’s imagining things, but when he goes into the bathroom his neck is red and painful, with dark, finger shaped bruises already starting to form around blood filled crescents. 

His mother doesn’t believe him, even when he shows her the bruises. 

“I just don’t understand you, Jensen,” she says witheringly. “First you make up lies about Pastor Williams, now this? Can’t you see that all you’re doing is making things worse?” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know what to do with you, I swear.”

“Mom, I’m not lying. There was someone here! He--he called me an abomination.” Jensen flushes, unable to look at Donna, afraid of what he might see in her face. 

Donna sighs in annoyance. “Here’s your homework for the week, Jensen. Your father and I have decided that it’s best you stay up here for dinner. Your sister is upset enough without you making up stories like this.” She hands him a couple of books and another paper plate, this time with a ham sandwich on it, two slices of bread and a piece of cold lunch meat. Jensen can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes, but he blinks them back, determined not to let his mother see, to be a good son.

“Okay,” he whispers, and his mother nods sharply in approval, then leaves. The sound of the bolt on his door sliding home sends the tears spilling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t make a sound until her footsteps fade away. 

After a few minutes Jensen pulls himself together. He looks at the sandwich with distaste, but his stomach is growling so he forces himself to take a bite. Chew and swallow, even though it tastes like sawdust. He chokes down half of it, then throws the rest away, unable to finish. Out of boredom, he picks up the books his mother had dropped off and flips through them listlessly. There's a list of assignments written down on a sheet of paper in the front of his math book and he reads it over three times, trying to decipher Chris’s messy handwriting. His heart beats faster, suddenly, as he realizes one word has been heavily underlined: kindle.

Jensen drops the paper and scrambles over to his desk, pulling out the kindle the school had assigned him earlier that year for reading projects. Every student had gotten one but Jensen never used his because of the headaches it gave him. It's slow and clunky, but it connects to the Internet just fine. 

For the first time in days Jensen feels a thread of hope. 

Jensen turns on the little tablet and waits impatiently for it to boot. He's so focused on the possibility of talking to Chris that he doesn't notice the sudden chill in the air until he sees his breath floating in front of him.

“No,” he whispers, panicked. “No, no, no--” He turns around, not knowing what to expect, and is shocked to see his grandfather standing behind him, fury twisting his face into something nearly unrecognizable. He barely has time to register what he's seeing before his grandfather’s hand slashes toward him in a vicious backhanded slap, knocking Jensen to the ground. He sits up, shaking his head groggily, and blood from the cut on his cheek splatters onto the cuff of his grandfather’s Levis, the ones he wore when he was working on the house or fixing up one of their old cars. 

“Papa--” Jensen begs, words slurred by the pain and shock. “Papa, please, I--”

“Faggot,” Papa Ackles hisses. “Abomination. The Lord has told me--” His heavy work boot connects with Jensen’s ribs with a dull, solid thud, driving the air from Jensen’s body. Jensen tries to cry out as the pain bursts through his chest, but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. The world narrows down to pinpricks, then fades away completely. 

Jensen’s head is throbbing in time with the bloody knot on his cheek when he wakes up. He hurts everywhere, biting his lip to stifle a cry of pain as he tries to stand. Even breathing hurts, a tiny explosion of pain with every breath no matter how shallowly and carefully he draws in air. Standing nearly makes him black out again, but the taste of blood in his mouth is making his stomach roil and the thought of puking like this is terrifying. 

Jensen staggers to the bathroom, concentrating on each step. He looks in the mirror and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He has a huge knot on his cheek, split and crusted with blood. It throbs painfully as soon as he sees it, an unwelcome addition to the pain in his ribs. Jensen washes his face carefully, rinsing the blood from his mouth and feeling his teeth gingerly. He’s relieved when none of them seem to be loose, and even more relieved to find he still has some extra strength tylenol in his cabinet. 

After swallowing a couple of pills, Jensen makes his way slowly and carefully to his bed and lies down. The pain in his chest eases slightly, and he sighs gratefully then groans as he remembers his kindle is still on the floor by the desk. The thought of getting up again before the painkillers kick in is too much and he grabs his headphones off his nightstand instead, trying not to think of what his mom will say when she brings him dinner. 

As it turns out he doesn’t have to worry. Donna sends Jensen’s sister Megan upstairs to tell him that they’re going out to dinner, and it’s all Jensen can do to keep her from screaming when she sees his face. 

“Shhh,” he tells her, hugging her in spite of the pain in his ribs. “Shh, I’m fine. I just tripped and hit my head on the desk.”

It’s a pretty transparent lie, but Megan is only eleven. She sniffles a little and nods. 

“I brought you a brownie,” she says shyly, holding out the stolen treat. It smells delicious, but the thought of eating makes Jensen’s stomach turn. He thanks her and puts it on the nightstand in case he feels better later. 

“Mom says you’re going away soon, JenJen,” Megan whispers. “I don’t want you to leave. I miss you.” Another fat tear rolls down her face, and Jensen wipes it away. 

“It’s just for a little while,” he assures her, hoping it’s true. “I don’t want to leave either, but mom and dad say I have to.”

“They said you’re sick. I don’t want you to be sick.” Megan stares up at him hopefully, begging him to say it’s not true.

“I’m not sick,” he says firmly. “I just...I just have to go. But I’ll be back, I promise.” 

“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “I guess I better go. Mom didn’t want me to stay up here too long, we’ll be late for church.” 

Jensen hugs her again, ignoring the sharp throb from his ribs. “Do me a favor, little bit, don’t tell mom and dad I was a clumsy idiot, okay? I don’t want them to worry about me.”

Megan nods. “I won’t,” she promises solemnly. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow, ‘kay?” She smiles at him brightly. “Love you, JenJen!” She dances away when he pretends to swat at her over the hated nickname, wincing when the move sends another breathtaking spike of pain through his chest.

Jensen turns back to his bed, feeling a little better after his brief conversation with his little sister. It occurs to him after a moment that he hadn’t heard her slide the lock on his door. He closes his eyes, sending up a quick prayer that he’s right and hoping that God doesn’t hate him as much as his family thinks He does. He waits until he’s sure his family has left the house, confident that he’ll have at least two hours once they’re gone. 

The knob turns easily in Jensen’s hand and he sends out a silent thank you to whoever might be listening when the door opens easily. The first thing he does is head for the kitchen, grabbing a can of soda and helping himself to a plate of the roast and potatoes from the fridge. After two days of dry sandwiches and tap water it tastes like heaven. He cleans up for himself then hesitates, thinking about where his parents might have hidden his phone.

Jensen decides to start with his father’s desk, and he gets lucky. It’s in the bottom drawer, not even locked, along with his laptop. Jensen grabs the phone, relieved to see it still has some charge. He calls Chris immediately, grateful that his friend doesn’t go to church on Wednesdays.  
“Chris?”

“Jensen, holy shit, is that you? What the hell is going on?” 

“I don’t know, man. It’s been crazy. I told my parents like we talked about and they made me go see Pastor Williams and then everything just went crazy. I can’t talk for long. They’ve been keeping me locked in my room but Megan left the bolt open for me when they went to church. I have to get back to my room in a few minutes so they don’t know I got out.”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“They’re keeping you locked in your room?” Chris asks incredulously. “Jensen, they can’t do that. It’s against the law!”

“They want send me to a camp. One that will make me not be gay anymore. Pastor Williams runs it.”

“Jensen, you’ve got to get out of there. Come to my house. Once my parents know what’s going on--”

“What if they don’t, Chris? What if they send me back here only it’s worse because I tried to get away?”

Chris makes a frustrated sound. He and his parents go to the same church as Jensen’s family--he knows his parents won’t approve of Jensen’s announcement any more than Jensen’s own parents did. “Just be careful, alright? I’m going to try and think of something.” He laughs abruptly. “Maybe I’ll tell my folks I’m gay too and we can go to camp together.” 

Jensen laughs a little, the sound turning into a grunt of pain as fire flares in his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll buy that,” he says, wheezing a little. “Look, I have to go. I don’t know when they’ll be back and I don’t want Megan to get in trouble for letting me out. It’s good to talk to you, man.”

“You, too. Be careful, and make sure you email me when you can. Keep me updated.”

Jensen hangs up and hides the phone in the drawer again, worried about how much time has passed. He hobbles up the stairs to his room as quickly as he can, and is in bed studying when he hears the family car pull into the driveway. His mood falls as he listens to his family laugh and talk as they move around the house. Neither of his parents come to his room that night, and he finishes his homework bleakly and turns out the light.

“Oh, my God! Jensen!” 

Jensen wakes with a start, gritting his teeth on a cry of pain from his bruised ribs.

“Mom?” He says sleepily, then comes fully awake as the bruise on his cheek throbs angrily. _Fuck_ he thinks wearily. This is the first time his mother has brought him breakfast in the week he’s been locked away up here, and he’d managed to be in the bathroom the couple of times Donna had brought him food. But now his luck has run out.

“Jensen, what happened to your face? What did you do?”

Jensen sits up, ribs twinging painfully. “It’s nothing, Mom. I just fell and hit my head on the desk, that’s all.” 

Donna gives him a hard look. “Is this why you’ve been hiding in the bathroom?”

Jensen flushes. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he mumbles. 

Donna sighs. “I don’t have time for this, Jensen, really. I thought I’d bring you breakfast, but this...Well. I can’t be late for work, but your father and I will be back to talk about this tonight.” She turns angrily and stalks out the door, slamming the bolt home. 

“Great,” Jensen mutters and falls back onto the bed. 

After a little while, Jensen opens his eyes. He can smell the food his mother brought him--pancakes with peanut butter, one of his favorites. He smiles, ignoring the lack of syrup and silverware, just happy to have something to eat. Even sandwiches have been few and far between since this whole nightmare started, and Jensen isn’t about to turn down anything he can get. 

Jensen picks up one of the pancakes, rolling it up and taking a careful bite. It’s not warm, but he still enjoys it, all the more since his mom made them just for him. He finishes the pancakes and lays back down with a sigh. After a week of being locked in his room and a week of being grounded before that, he’s bored out of his mind. All his school work for the week is done and his mom hasn’t brought him anything new. He’s read every book he owns twice over and he’s afraid to order any new e-books for fear his parents will see the purchase and take away his kindle. He shivers, burrowing under the comforter, then goes still, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Please, God. Don’t let him--”

“God can’t hear you, faggot. He doesn’t listen to sinners like you!” 

Strong, cold hands grab Jensen by the arms, yanking him out from under the warm blankets and throwing him to the floor. Jensen cries out, pain bursting through him from his bruised ribs. He raises his arms to protect himself from the blows raining down on him.

“I’ll not have it,” his grandfather rants furiously. “Not in my house, not in my family!” 

Jensen sobs in terror, huddling on the floor. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, please don’t--”

The blows stop as suddenly as they started. After a moment Jensen looks up carefully, but his grandfather is nowhere to be seen. He drops his head and cries in shock and terror, wondering if he’s losing his mind. 

Finally, Jensen runs out of tears. That’s what it feels like, anyway. He pushes himself to his feet slowly and painfully and makes his way to the bathroom just as slowly. The cut on his cheek is open again and he washes the blood away, then looks reluctantly at the bruises laddering his arms. There’s no mistaking what they are--finger marks from where his grandfather had dragged him from bed, welts and bruises from where he’d beaten Jensen with his fists. Jensen shuffles to his closet and pulls out one of his long sleeved overshirts--if he’s lucky him mom won’t notice if she brings him lunch. 

Jensen wanders over to his window, wishing he weren’t on the second floor. There aren’t any trees close enough to reach, no convenient gutters like in the movies. He bangs on the glass in frustration, then turns away. No sense wasting energy on impossible escape plans. His gaze falls on the kindle, and he picks it up, debating if he should tell Chris about what’s been happening. He’s avoided the issue of abuse whenever Chris brought it up, because it’s not like anyone will believe him, but he has to tell someone. 

_Hey, Chris. So I have a story to tell you. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but it’s true, I swear._

_I think I’m being haunted. I don’t know what else it can be. Sounds crazy, I know but if you could see my face you’d believe me…._

_When my parents took me to see Pastor Williams, something weird happened. He...he **kissed** me and shoved me against the door to his study, and then his eyes turned **black.** It’s so fucked up, Chris. He told my mom and dad that I attacked him, but I was just trying to get away. I can’t go to that camp with him. I can’t. _

_Then a week ago my grandfather, the one who died last year, just...appeared in my room. It got really cold, so cold I could see my breath, and then...he hit me. My face looks like that time you dared me to loop the bar on the swingset and I ended up in the emergency room, though at least I still have all my teeth this time. He keeps coming back. I think my ribs might be broken, and now I have bruises all over my arms, too._

_I know it sounds insane. I **know**. But it’s true, I swear. I don’t know what to do. He keeps saying I’m an abomination, that God hates me. I’m afraid he’s going to really hurt me or maybe even kill me. _

_Please don’t think I’m crazy. I’m not._

Jensen’s finger hovers over send, then pushes the button quickly before he can change his mind. Chris is his best friend--if he decides Jensen is crazy Jensen’s not sure what he’ll do. But he can’t keep this a secret. He can’t.

Not five minutes pass before the notification light on his kindle flashes. 

_I believe you. What can I do to help?_

The words blur and double through more tears. Jensen wipes them away and types. 

_I think I need to get out of here. Today my...grandfather? The ghost? said “not in my house”. Maybe if I leave he won’t be so angry? Or maybe he won’t be able to find me if I’m not here. This is so nuts, Chris. I keep thinking I must have imagined it all, but I have all these bruises. I don’t know what to think anymore._

_We’ll get you out of there. I promise. But you can’t come here. My mom and dad have been talking to your mom and dad and...you get the picture._

Jensen sighs. He can imagine how that conversation must have gone, all too well. But without Chris he’s not sure where to go, even if they manage to break him out. He’ll worry about that when the time comes, he decides. First things first.

_I’m gonna need money and my phone, at least. I know where they hid my phone, and I still have some money saved from last summer. How does this sound--I’ll ask my mom to invite you guys over for dinner so I can say goodbye. You can sneak into my dad’s study and get my phone. Then all I have to do is figure out how to get out of this room._

_Shouldn’t be that hard--remember camp when we were nine? I bet you can still tie a pretty good knot._

Jensen grins at the memory. The counselors had been a little put out, to say the least, when he and Chris had turned their bedding into an impromptu rope swing and charged the other campers fifty cents each to swing out over the lake. The tree branch had given out before Jensen’s knots, though, so maybe Chris had a point. 

Before long, Chris’s break is over and he has to go back to class. Jensen hides his kindle in his desk, pacing back and forth, mind racing as he tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to get out of here, and what he’ll do when he finally does. The only things he knows for sure is he’s not going to that camp, and he can’t stay here and let his grandfather kill him. 

Donna doesn't come home for lunch. 

Jensen waits, a little impatient, stomach growling, the two pancakes he'd had for breakfast long since gone. He hears Megan come home from school around three-thirty, but she doesn't come to his room. He hears his mom come home a little later, but she doesn't come up either. 

To take his mind off his stomach, Jensen starts planning what he's going to take with him. He practices folding up as much as he can stuff in his backpack, and realizes pretty quickly it's not going to be much. He sighs and piles everything he needs by the door, hoping his mom will let him do laundry the next day. He tries reading for awhile, but he can't concentrate, too exhausted from fear, pain and hunger. 

After the third time he nods off, Jensen gives up and changes for bed, making sure he’s wearing long sleeves just in case. The last thing he wants is for his mom to see more bruises. He's just settled in when he hears the latch on his door slide free.

“Jensen, your father and I need to talk to you,” his mother says briskly, entering the room. She avoids looking at Jensen, especially his face, staring fixedly at a spot above his head. “We've worked things out with Pastor Williams, and he says he's opening his camp for a special session, just for you. You'll start on Monday.”

Jensen hopes his shock and terror don't show on face. “Mom, I--”

“That's right, son. In just a few weeks you'll be back to normal and we can put all this behind us,” Alan says cheerfully.

They both smile at him, his mother brightly, as though she's just given him the best news in the world, his father sternly, reminding him to be obedient.

“I--Mom, Dad, you know I’m kind of scared about going, but if that's what you think is best…” Jensen says meekly, his mind racing again. 

His parents seem pleasantly surprised by his acquiescence. 

“Well, that's good to hear, son,” his father says, a more genuine smile curving his lips. “I'm glad you understand we only have your best interests at heart.”

“Since I'm leaving so soon, do you think Chris could come over for dinner so I can say goodbye?” Jensen does his best to look harmless and unassuming as his parents exchange a concerned look.

“Well…” Donna hedges. “We'll have to talk to his parents, of course, but if they approve then I don't see why not.” 

“Thanks, Mom.” Jensen hesitates, wondering if he could ask for a snack without making them angry. He decides not to risk it. Seeing Chris is more important than missing a few meals, especially when he's so close to freedom. “Can I ask one more favor? I need to wash some of my clothes for the trip.”

Donna looks irritated by the request, but Alan steps in. “I’m sure that will be fine, son.” he says amiably. “Why don’t you get them together and come downstairs. We’ll have a Bible study while they wash since you missed church this week.”

Jensen gives Alan a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom. I’ll be right down.”

Jensen grabs his laundry as soon as the door closes behind them, his heart soaring when the bolt doesn’t slide home. He pauses, hand on the door, when he hears them talking. 

“Are you sure about this Alan?” Donna sounds upset. “I’m just concerned that he might have another fit and frighten Megan. You saw what he did to his face!”

Alan sounds troubled. “Megan says he told her it was just an accident. But you’re right. If the camp doesn’t help him, we’ll get the doctors involved. There are hospitals that can help people like him, Donna. I’m sure Pastor Williams can recommend an appropriate doctor.” Their voices fade away as they go back downstairs. 

Jensen shivers, terror bubbling through him at the thought of being committed. He shivers again, then moans as a new terror takes him. “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no--” He throws the door open and dashes for the stairs, hoping that his grandfather won’t follow him. 

His parents watch disapprovingly as Jensen runs down the stairs, and he smiles weakly. “Just happy to be out of my room,” he jokes lamely. He doesn’t miss the concerned looks between his parents as he hurries to the laundry room. 

Back in the living room, Alan opens his Bible and begins to pray. He drones on and on about purity and God’s will and being thankful for what they’ve been given. Jensen tries not to be resentful or think about the kitchen not far away. He focuses instead on Megan slipping her hand into his and squeezing tight. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you again,” she whispers. “Mom said no. She got mad because I took one of the brownies.”

“It’s okay, little bit,” Jensen whispers back. “I understand.” His heart aches with how much he’s going to miss her. 

After that Alan reads a short passage from the Bible and gives a short lesson. Jensen pays scant attention, exhausted and hungry and frightened, but it seems to be about the joys of obeying your elders and respecting your parents. Jensen smiles and nods in all the right places, but all he can think about is that this is possibly the last time he’ll ever see his little sister or his parents again. He blinks away tears, relieved when Alan finally dismisses them and he can go back to the laundry room. 

He shifts his clothes to the dryer then grabs clean sheets from the linen cabinet. He doesn’t go into his room, just tosses them on the bed, irrationally afraid that if he goes inside his grandfather will be waiting, or that the door will lock behind him. He hurries back downstairs before his parents notice he’s gone, slowing when he passes the kitchen. His stomach clenches and before he can change his mind he darts into the kitchen and grabs an apple and a banana out of the fruit bowl on the counter before continuing quickly back to check on his clothes. Back inside the little room, out of sight, he eats in famished gulps, sighing when he’s done. He’s not exactly full, but he feels better. A lot better. 

All too soon, it’s time to go back upstairs. Donna follows Jensen up, grimly silent. Jensen tries not to wince when she surprises him with a hug, but from the way her eyes narrow, Jensen is pretty sure she feels it anyway. _One more day,_ he tells himself. _I just have to get through one more day._ The sound of the bolt on his door sliding home drives home how long that day is going to be. 

Jensen spends the next morning packing and repacking his backpack. His mother doesn’t appear with breakfast or lunch, and it finally occurs to him that it has to be deliberate. He wonders if Pastor Williams had told them not to let him eat, if ‘fasting’ was supposed to make him more compliant. He clings to that idea, unable to accept that his parents just don’t care. To distract himself, he works on the cloth rope he hopes will be strong enough to hold him, stripping the sheets off his bed and covering their absence with his comforter. It’s harder than he remembers, but by the time he’s done he has around twenty feet of ‘rope’ that he hides under his bed. 

After that, all that’s left is to wait. Megan gets home around three-thirty, his mother around four. He changes into his favorite jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt around five, but no one comes to get him. He hears his mother greet Chris and his family around six, but no one comes upstairs to let him out of his room. Tears of frustration fill his eyes as he realizes he might not be allowed to say goodbye to Chris after all, and he debates just leaving now, while everyone is distracted. 

He’s in the middle of pulling the rope from under his bed when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. His mother opens the door a few minutes later, eyes tight. 

“I told Chris and his family you aren’t feeling well, but that you might come down for dessert,” she says coldly. “Don’t make me regret this, Jensen.”

“I won’t,” he promises fervently. Anything to get out of that room and see his friend again before he leaves. His stomach clenches painfully, and he shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t have to hide that he can’t make them stop shaking.

There’s an audible gasp from Chris’s mother when Jensen enters the dining room. “Jensen!” she says, shocked. “Your face--”

“Hi, Mrs. Kane,” Jensen says, hoping his smile doesn’t look too forced. “You know how clumsy I am, I tripped and hit my head on my desk.” 

Chris looks ready to murder someone, but he gets up and hugs Jensen warmly. Jensen can’t help his hiss of pain, but no one else is close enough to hear. Chris backs off immediately, mouth open to apologize, then thinks better of it. “It’s good to see you, man,” he says gruffly. “We’ve all missed you at school.” 

“I missed you guys, too,” Jensen says, tears stinging his eyes. He blinks them away. “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, though.” 

Jensen sits next to Chris at the table as Donna brings out dessert, a thick, dark chocolate cake. His mouth waters and his stomach growls noticeably. Everyone laughs a little, breaking the tense quiet Jensen’s appearance had caused. Conversations start up between around the table, and after a few moments Chris excuses himself. Jensen’s heart picks up as Chris walks down the hallway toward the bathroom-and his father’s study. Chris comes back a few minutes later and smiles at Jensen. He sits down again, digging into his piece of cake. 

“This is amazing, Mrs. Ackles,” he says, licking his lips and the back of his spoon. “Um, we’ve been doing some really hard stuff in algebra. Is it alright if Jensen and I take a look at it before I leave?”

All four adults exchange looks. “I think that sounds fine, Chris,” Mrs. Kane says firmly. Her eyes linger on Jensen’s face and the tell-tale long sleeves he’s wearing. “I’m sure you boys have a lot to talk about before Jensen leaves.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Chris says. He grabs another slice of cake and drags Jensen toward the stairs. As soon as the door closes, he shoves the cake at Jensen. “Alright, talk,” he demands. 

Jensen raises his eyebrows, mouth stuffed with cake. He swallows and grins. “Thanks, man. I’m starving.” 

Chris’s brow furrows. “So I see. What’s going on with you? I barely touched you earlier.”

Jensen grimaces and puts down the slice of cake, suddenly not feeling well. The rich, sugary chocolate turns uneasily in his stomach, but he’s determined to make Chris believe him. He lifts his shirt silently. 

“Holy shit. The ghost did this?”

Jensen nods and pulls off the shirt so that Chris can see all the bruises on his chest, back and arms. “And this. And...he showed up again earlier today, but my mom actually let me out of the room for a little while and he didn’t follow me.” Chris curses angrily under his breath, then pulls out his phone. 

“Stand still,” Chris says grimly. “And hold your arms out.” Jensen starts to object, but the look on Chris’s face and the realization that he might need those pictures later keep him silent. He turns around so that Chris can get his back, too, then dresses quickly before anyone can find them together and jump headfirst into a pile of wrong conclusions.

Chris takes a deep breath, shaking his head as he puts his phone away. “This is some crazy, fucked up shit, man. But if he didn’t follow you out of the room, there’s a pretty good chance once you leave he won’t be able to hurt you again, right?”

Jensen nods. “Sure seems that way. And I noticed something else. It seems like he only shows up after my mom does.” Jensen stares at the floor, not wanting to think about the implications. “I don’t know what that means, though.”

“Well, the important thing is that you’ll be out of here. I’m not sure which is crazier, being haunted by the homicidal ghost of your grandfather or your parents locking in your room and starving you into submission before sending you off to degaying camp.”

Jensen’s throat tightens. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “Pretty fucking weird.”

“Speaking of getting you out of here, I got your phone. And I brought you something else too. And you’re going to take it, like it or not.” Chris holds out Jensen’s phone and also a stack of bills.

“Chris…”

“I said you’re gonna take it. And you’re gonna call me and let me know you’re alright when you finally get somewhere safe.” Chris pulls Jensen into a gentle hug then pushes him back, looking him in the eyes. “You’re my best friend. I love you just the way you are. Got it?”

Jensen gives him a watery smile. “Got it.” 

“I better get back downstairs before they start to think you’re corrupting me,” Chris says with a sigh. “You got your rope?” 

Jensen nods. “I might leave tonight, Chris. Your mom seemed upset about the bruise on my face, and I don’t want my mom and dad to get suspicious or worried.” 

“Do what you have to,” Chris says seriously. “Just be safe. And don’t forget to turn off the GPS in your phone.” 

Chris turns to head back downstairs, Jensen right behind him. Chris and his family say their goodbyes and head out for the night. 

“That went very well, Jensen,” Donna says brightly. “Now, I think we should all get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do before we leave tomorrow.” 

Jensen feels a surge of panic. “Tomorrow? I thought we were leaving on Monday.”

Alan shakes his head. “No, your re-education program starts on Monday. But Pastor Williams wants you to get settled first, and it’s a fair drive to get there. We’re leaving right after lunch tomorrow.”

Jensen forces himself to smile. “Oh, okay. Well, I guess I better say goodnight then.” He heads upstairs, heart pounding because this is it. He’s leaving. He might not ever see his home again. Alan follows him up the stairs, and Jensen wishes he had the courage to hug him. But he’s not sure his father would allow it, and he wants to keep the illusion that his parents still love him as intact as he can. 

“Good night, son,” Alan says, smiling benevolently now that he’s won. “Sleep well.” He pulls the door shut and Jensen hears the bolt slide home. The sound sends a chill up his spine, but he doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the last few things he needs--a few toiletries, though he’s not sure when he’ll be able to use them, his phone and the money he and Chris had saved up. His gaze falls on his grandfather’s Bible, out on his desk in an attempt to placate his parents, and he pauses. Part of him wants to leave it here, leave behind the hate and fear that it represents. But he remembers how his grandfather was before he changed, and he still loves that part of him. Jensen grabs the book and stuffs it in his pack. He won’t let his parents destroy his faith or his love for them. If nothing else, he’ll find someone who will love and appreciate it somewhere along the way. 

Jensen pulls his rope from under the bed and ties it firmly to the thickest, strongest part of his desk and coils the rest by the window. Inspiration strikes, and he scribbles a note for his parents. 

_Dear Mom and Dad,  
I know you mean well and you’re just trying to help me. But Pastor Williams isn’t a good person. I think he wants to hurt me. He tried to kiss me in his study, and he tried to make me stay with him on the couch even though I didn’t want to. I don’t want to go to his camp, so I’m going to Colorado to see Aunt Darla instead. I have plenty of money for the bus ticket and food along the way so please don’t try to stop me. _

_There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need to be fixed. I think God loves me just the way I am, because God is love._

_I hope I’ll see you again one day._

_Jensen_

Jensen re-reads the note, then leaves it on the desk where his parents will find it and waits for the house to go silent. After half an hour, he ties his backpack to the bottom of the rope and lowers it slowly out the window, careful not to bump the walls. One last look around, and he begins his own climb to the ground. When his feet finally hit the grass he unties his backpack, hefts it onto his shoulders and begins walking toward the road out of town. 

He doesn’t look back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder for those who might be concerned or confused after this chapter: Wincest is always my endgame. ♥

Chapter 9

“And then you found me,” Jensen says softly. “I think that was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. It’s been better than I ever could have expected.”

Sam smiles down at him, his heart warmed a little by the idea that Jensen--or anyone, for that matter--thinks that meeting him is something good, something to be grateful for. Most of the people Sam meets are either grieving or terrified, and many of them have ended up blaming him and Dean for their troubles. It feels good. 

“You did the right thing,” Sam tells Jensen truthfully. “You kept your head and got yourself out of a bad situation. I wouldn’t normally consider running away from home at fifteen the best course of action for anyone, but I don’t really see that you had a choice.”

Jensen smiles back shyly. “That was just the first step. Meeting you saved my life, Sam. I thought that leaving my house would keep my grandfather away from me, but I would have been even worse off if you hadn’t found me and been willing to help. He would have killed me, I know it.” Jensen sits up, turning to face Sam on his knees. He takes Sam’s face in both hands and kisses him gently. “Thank you.”

Sam catches Jensen’s hands, pulling them against his chest. “We saved each other,” Sam says quietly, and the truth in those words resonates inside him. “I think...I think maybe I wanted to die, it was only a matter of time before something happened--an accident, a hunt gone wrong. I needed someone to help me keep going, to help me focus, and I found you.”

Jensen doesn’t turn away from the raw emotion in Sam’s voice, just hugs him tightly. Sam is surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks as he clings to Jensen, craving his touch and his voice, so like Dean and so different. It might not ever be Dean again, he realizes, and he truly grieves for the other half of his soul, purging himself of the anger and bitterness losing Dean again had left festering inside him.

Finally Sam’s grip on Jensen loosens enough to be a hug again rather than a death grip. He feels empty, hollowed out, but better. He hasn’t given up on finding Dean--he’ll never give up-- but some of the rage and fear that had been clouding his judgment and killing him is tamped down, transformed into something he can use to fuel his determination in a more positive way. He takes a deep breath, and it feels like the first time in years. 

“What do you say we get out of here for a little while?” he suggests. “I’ve got some questions, but I could use a change of scenery.” 

Jensen nods fervently. “Let’s go back to the park,” he says, then grins. “We can reenact our first date.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows. “All of it?” he asks, his hands sliding down to squeeze Jensen’s ass, and Jensen leans in to kiss him. 

“ _Definitely._ ”

Getting back in the Impala feels...strange. Sam still feels Dean next to him the way he always does, still feels that same ache of loss, but it doesn’t hurt the same way. This time it feels less like a reminder of what he’s lost and more like a reminder of what he’s going to get back. He can tell that part of it is having Jensen in the passenger’s seat. Jensen isn’t Dean, he can’t replace Dean, but just having him here eases the pain in Sam’s chest a little. 

As they pull away from the motel, Jensen gets out Dean’s box of cassettes and sorts through it til he finds one he likes. It’s one of Dean’s favorites, and Sam’s throat tightens a bit as the familiar music starts to play. He lets himself smile a little, losing himself in memories of his brother for the few minutes it takes to find the park again. 

Sam pulls off the street, the Impala growling to a stop as far from the other guests as possible. The doors creak wearily when Sam and Jensen climb out, and Sam makes a guilty note to get the car checked out. It was something Dean had always taken care of, and part of Sam has rebelled at taking that away from Dean’s memory. But Sam knows it has to be done. He tells himself it’s not giving up, no matter what it feels like, and this time he thinks he can see his way to believing it. 

Sam snaps back to the present to find Jensen watching him quizzically.

“You alright, Sam?” Jensen asks, and Sam tries not to let the hurt show on his face at how much he sounds like Dean. 

He must succeed, because unlike Dean Jensen doesn’t push past his nod and what feels like a rictus grin. They stroll through the park, not really talking much, but then Jensen sees signs that point the way to a lakeside trail and heads in that direction, pulling Sam along behind him. Sam watches him as they walk, wonders if his heart will ever beat normally again, or if this clench, this tightness in his chest, is permanent. When Jensen drops onto a small bench overlooking the water, Sam’s laugh sounds hollow in his own ears. 

“Dean always seemed to gravitate toward water when we had something important to talk about,” Sam says by way of explanation. He sits next to Jensen, stretching his legs out and putting his arm around Jensen. The boy leans into him gratefully, and it strikes Sam again how much younger Jensen is than Dean was at this age. He wishes, fleetingly, that Jensen could stay this way, but he knows it's already too late. Better to rip the bandaid off quickly and teach him how to protect himself--anyone wearing Dean's face in this world was going to need it.

They watch the water for a few minutes, listening to the quiet waves and the distant sound of kids playing somewhere behind him. It’s peaceful, and Sam can feel the calm seeping into them both along with the bright afternoon sun. Jensen stirs beside him, shifting so that they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee, tucking himself under Sam’s arm like he belongs there. Sam feels a wave of protectiveness rush through him, fierce and strong, and he thinks this must be something like how Dean felt, this deep seated need to protect Sam from the world and everything in it. He understands his brother a little better in that moment, and files it away with a million other things he needs to say to Dean when he finds him again.

Next to him, Jensen sighs and lets his head fall back against Sam’s arm.

“You said you had some questions about what I told you? I’ll try and answer anything I can,” he says, staring up at the clouds.

“Just a few,” Sam tells him reassuringly. “You told me most of what I need to know back at the motel, I just want to go over a few details.”

Jensen nods, but Sam feels a fine tremor run through him where he's pressed against Sam's side. 

“You said that your mom brought your grandfather’s Bible into your room. Had you ever seen your grandfather’s ghost--or any ghost--before that?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I always thought stuff like that was bullshit,” he confesses. “We go to heaven or hell when we die. No one gets to stay, it’s against God’s will to even think something like that.” 

Sam keeps his voice even, hiding his mild exasperation with such dangerous viewpoints. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. But it sounds like your grandfather’s Bible might have been a talisman of some sort. Probably not on purpose, probably just something he felt was a part of him. Now, I’m sorry to have to ask this, but how did your grandfather die? Was there anything unusual or violent about his death?”

“Nothing violent,” Jensen says. “He just...got sick. The doctor said he’d been having mini strokes for awhile, and that he finally had a really big one.” Jensen hesitates. “I asked the doctor if that could have made him act...weird. And the doctor said yes. So maybe he didn’t really hate me as much as it seemed like.”

Sam hugs Jensen tighter, wishing he could kiss away the hurt in Jensen’s voice. “That’s very possible,” Sam says gently. 

“It’s probably not true, though. He always despised people like me. But I don’t think he wanted to kill us until he got sick.” Jensen’s voice cracks a little, but he goes on determinedly. “I was so afraid he would find out that I was glad when he died,” he confesses. Tears run down his cheeks and Jensen scrubs them away with his hand. “I shouldn’t be sad,” he says fiercely. “They don’t deserve it. They _don’t._ ” But he can’t seem to stop the tears. Sam wraps Jensen up in his arms and lets him cry, understanding the anger and grief behind it. 

Finally Jensen sits up again, but he doesn’t move away. 

“Sorry. I just--”

“It's okay to be angry and hurt,” Sam tells him again. “I get it. Being afraid of your family is a shitty feeling. I hate having to make you relive all this, but it's important that I'm sure of what's happening. We have to make sure we do everything right or you could still be in danger. I know this is hard, but can you tell me what happened to your grandfather’s remains? Was he buried or cremated?”

Jensen looks at him in disbelief, but Sam just waits. 

Finally Jensen shakes his head. “He was cremated. This is so surreal. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“It’s hard to wrap your head around, I know. But you have to accept that it’s real and that you aren’t crazy if we want to get through this. And by the way, you did great back there in the room--exactly what I needed you to do so that I could protect us.” He hugs Jensen to him, presses a quick kiss to his temple. “So here’s the thing. Based on what you’ve said, I think what we need to do is purify and destroy your grandfather’s Bible. I don’t know what part your mom played--if her anger was feeding the spirit, or if there’s some other connection. But destroying the Bible has definitely got to be our first step.”

Jensen’s face falls a little. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Will you try to explain some of this stuff as we’re going along? I feel kind of lost, and it’s scary not knowing how to protect myself.” 

“Sure.” Sam smiles, pleased that Jensen is interested in learning more. “In fact, I was going to suggest it. Dean and I...well, let’s just say wearing Dean’s face isn’t exactly safe. There are a lot of things out there that know who we are.”

That gets a grin out of Jensen. “Yeah? You guys are some sort of power couple, huh? Everyone knows your name?”

Sam throws his head back and laughs out loud. “Power couple? Dean is never gonna live that one down.” His eyes sparkle as he thinks of Dean’s reaction. “But yeah, I guess in a way you could say that. We have a bit of a reputation--with other hunters, monsters, heaven and hell…” He laughs again, shaking his head. “Everyone who’s anyone knows who we are.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Jensen coos, batting his eyes at Sam. He licks his lips, leaning in, and Sam reluctantly stops him. 

“Don’t want to traumatize the locals,” Sam murmurs. He smiles away the sting of his words. “I keep forgetting you’re not--that you’re only half my age. I’d rather not spend the night in jail because some soccer mom called the cops.”

Jensen laughs ruefully. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess. It’s hard, though. I like making you laugh.” He ducks his head, cheeks a little pink. 

“I’d love to kiss you right now,” Sam says softly. “But you’re fifteen and I’m twenty-nine. That’s a problem for a lot of people.” He looks at Jensen steadily, seriously. “And it should be. It would be for me under pretty much any other circumstances. But there’s something special going on between us. I don’t understand it yet, but we’ll figure it out, together.” 

Jensen looks troubled. “Is this just because I look like Dean?” he asks bluntly. “Is that why you’re helping me, why you want to be with me?”

Sam frowns, not surprised by the question. He’d wondered the same thing, but quickly realized there was more to their connection than just Jensen’s appearance. “No. I promise you, Jensen. That’s part of it, because I miss him like I’d miss half my heart. Having you here actually makes that harder in some ways, not easier. But no matter how much it hurts, I want you here with me. I want to touch you and see you smile and hear you laugh, because you make me happy.” 

Jensen’s smile is like a vise around Sam’s heart. “Okay,” he says, then bounces up off the bench. “You know, I seem to remember our first date involving _food_. Is that the part that comes next?”

“Well, there’s a cold pizza back at the motel….”

Jensen wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to go back there yet. Let’s go out to eat instead. I’ll even treat.” 

“Yeah, how about you save that money for when you really need it,” Sam suggests instead. “Tell you what, I think I saw a sub shop not too far from here...and I can tell you about one of the _other_ times I met ‘Dean’.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI, I wrote a 7/4/96 flashback about Sam and Dean's first time being together. I didn't want to put it in the chapter sequence and disrupt the flow of the story, but if anyone wants to read it, it's called The First Time. http://archiveofourown.org/works/11396616

Chapter 10

Jensen looks intrigued. “Yeah?” he says, laughing a little. “How many clones does this guy have, anyway?”

“At least two, apparently,” Sam says, grinning. It feels good to have a plan, to actually know what to do instead of stumbling around in the dark. “And possibly one more up in Pennsylvania, but that one was never confirmed.” He swats at Jensen, who sidesteps neatly, sticking out his tongue. “And interestingly all four of you are smartasses, too. Must come with the territory.”

“You love it,” Jensen shoots back, then freezes, face going bright red with embarrassment. “I mean--I didn't --”

“Hey, it's okay. I _do_ love it. It seems like it's part of who you are, you know?” 

Jensen doesn’t answer. He’s quiet til they get back to the Impala, then looks over at Sam with an impish grin. “Hey, since my license says I’m 16 now, you’re gonna let me drive her, right?” Jensen runs his hand lovingly over the hood in appreciation. 

Sam’s heart skips, sharp thud of actual pain in his chest at the thought of Jensen in the driver’s seat. “No,” he says, harsher than he intends. “I--no. Not now. Not yet.” He puts out a hand to steady himself against the Impala and Jensen is there instead, arms wrapped tightly around Sam’s waist. 

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, voice muffled against Sam’s chest. “I didn’t mean to, I was just joking. I don’t know how to drive yet anyway.”

Sam strokes Jensen’s hair, immediately feeling better for the contact. “Shh, no, it’s alright, it’s not your fault,” he says soothingly. “I know you didn’t mean to, you didn’t know. It’s just...this was our home. She’s all we had, our whole lives. Dean...I can picture him, looking just like you, driving down the road with the windows down singing along to the radio.” He tilts Jensen’s face up and kisses him, witnesses be damned. “Sometimes it hurts so bad I don’t know how I’m going to survive long enough to find him again, but you make it better, Jensen. You do.” He kisses Jensen again, softer and quicker, and gets a smile as his reward. 

Jensen leans into Sam with a sigh. “I changed my mind. I just want to go back to the room,” he says. “We can order a new pizza or some chinese food.” He turns his head enough that Sam can hear him clearly, even though he speaks softly. “I just want to be able to touch you without anyone complaining.”

There’s an undertone in Jensen’s voice that rubs Sam’s instincts the wrong way, but he shoves the feeling away. “Me, too, kiddo,” Sam says quietly, and is a little surprised by how true it is. He ruffles Jensen’s hair, ignoring the face Jensen makes in response, and opens the car door. Jensen slides in, all the way across, sprawling across the seat the same way Dean used to do on the rare occasions he allowed Sam to drive, and it’s like a switch flips for them both. Sam doesn’t have to look over at Jensen to know that he’s already half hard, but he looks anyway, vision blurring slightly as memory and reality overlap. For a split second he sees Dean, carefree and young again before the world dropped on his shoulders, ripped jeans and an old Zep t-shirt, hears Dean’s voice as he murmurs _look so hot driving my Baby, Sammy_ as he palms himself through his jeans. 

Jensen catches Sam’s eyes, holding Sam’s gaze as he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip, biting back a moan. One hand trails down his chest and Sam can’t help following, all the way down to where Jensen’s stroking himself, pushing up against his fingers. 

“Jesus, Jensen,” Sam croaks, his throat gone suddenly dry. His fingers clench on the steering wheel as Sam fights the urge to drag Jensen across the warm leather and kiss him senseless. 

Jensen laughs breathlessly. “You kinda look like you want to eat me alive.”

Sam’s head thunks back against the headrest, eyes closed. “Maybe that’s what I should do when we get back to the motel,” he says, voice sinking into gravel. “Throw you on the bed, spread those legs and eat you out til you come.” He turns back to Jensen, eyes hot and hungry. “Or would you rather have pizza?”

Jensen stares at him the tips of his ears pink and his eyes wide as tip of his tongue darts out to slick his lips again. “I--” A loud growling grumble fills the air, cutting off whatever Jensen was going to say and snapping Sam back to his senses, at least briefly. Sam's eyebrows go up and he can't help the grin spreading over his face or the laughter that spills out into his voice.

“I guess that answers _that_ ,” Sam says, unable to contain his mirth. Jensen blushes bright red then giggles, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other covering his mouth. 

“Well, we haven't discussed dessert yet,” Jensen points out when he can talk again. “Also, what do you like on your pizza?”

Sam grins. “Dessert is always on the menu,” he agrees. “Just order whatever you like, I’ll be fine with it.” 

“Meatlovers it is,” Jensen says, then snickers again, forcibly reminding Sam that he’s dealing with a fifteen year old boy--who has a lot in common with his thirty-four year old lookalike. 

Sam starts the car while Jensen dials, placing the order with brisk efficiency. Jensen turns on the radio again, familiar music filling the car and making it feel more like home than it has since Dean disappeared. Sam isn’t sure, but he thinks the feeling growing in his chest might be hope.

The pizza arrives not long after Sam and Jensen get back to the motel, and Jensen digs in like he hasn’t eaten in days. Which, Sam realizes with a wince, isn’t far from true. He resolves to be more regular with meals in the future, and also to get some slightly more healthy options. While they eat, Sam questions Jensen about the case. 

“There was something else in your story that concerns me, Jensen,” Sam says, watching Jensen eat with amusement. “Early on you were talking about the pastor at your church, Pastor Williams?”

Jensen nods and shivers, unable to repress his disgust. “I’d always thought he was a little creepy, you know? Always watching the kids.” He shivers again. “But that night...he was different. I never heard about him touching anyone before, but he put his hands on me. Kissed me. He smelled _terrible_ , like rotting meat and sulphur, only it was like no one else could smell it except me. But the worst part was that his eyes turned completely black. Not just like when you’re in the dark and your pupils get really big, but like everything. It was awful.”

“And he said he wanted something from you?”

“He said I had something he wanted, but I don’t know what he was talking about. I don’t have anything he’d want. And there was something _wrong_ with him.”

“He was possessed by a demon,” Sam says, watching Jensen carefully. 

Jensen frowns and shakes his head. “That’s what you said before, but are you sure? Because he said _I_ was possessed by a demon, and he wanted to perform an exorcism. If he did an exorcism, wouldn’t he get hurt too? I mean, if demons are even real.”

“They are, Jensen. I promise you, they are very real.” Sam leans forward, wanting to make Jensen understand. “He probably wouldn’t do a real exorcism--it’s not like you see in the movies. I mean, there _are_ some versions that use spells and candles and stuff, but for the most part a simple _Exorcizamus te_ will work just fine.” 

Sam can see that Jensen isn’t exactly reassured, so he continues. “The best way to tell if someone is possessed, for future reference, is to say the name of God in Latin. It’s pronounced _Christos_.”

“I can’t believe this is something I need to know,” Jensen mutters, staring down at the remains of his pizza like he regrets eating anything. “How am I supposed to live my life knowing that anyone I meet might be some sort of monster?” There’s a note of panic in his voice that Sam understands but doesn’t like. He reaches over and grips Jensen’s hand firmly. 

“Jensen. _Jensen_. Listen to me, okay? There are things we can do to protect you. Things I can teach you so you can protect yourself. But the most important thing to remember is that even though demons are real, you may never see another one for as long as you live.” Sam hesitates. “I was born into this life. I lived it every day, from the time I was six months old until I turned 18 and left for college. I know what you’re feeling right now and I’m telling you: It will be okay.”

Jensen takes a deep, shuddery breath, holding onto Sam’s hand like a lifeline. “Weren’t you afraid?”

Sam shrugs, his thoughts turning inward for a moment. “A little. I’d never been on my own before, not really. A day or two, a week or two here and there. But Dean was always there, always beside me. Giving up that security was the hardest part of leaving.”

Jensen looks mildly shocked. “You _left_ him? I mean...you haven’t told me much, but I thought you guys were in love.”

“We were. We are.” Sam takes a deep breath. “But love isn’t always easy, you know? Part of me thinks now that it was a mistake, not because I left but because I hurt him. I wanted him to go with me, but I was afraid if I asked he’d say no, because hunting is his life. It’s what he loves more than anything--even me, I thought then. I didn’t find out until later that he’d have gone with me if he thought I wanted him to.” Sam shakes his head. “Of all the things I’ve done, leaving him for Stanford is what I regret most and least.”

“That sounds pretty complicated.” 

“It was. And still is sometimes.” Sam smiles, a little sad, a little fond. “Stanford was tough on both of us. But I don't blame him for being angry and hurt--it was my choice. And honestly? In some ways I think we're better for it. I came to see how much I needed him and how much he needed me, although for a long time I still didn't really understand exactly what it all meant.” Sam squeezes Jensen’s hand reassuringly. “I know this is scary. But I'm going to teach you how to take care of yourself and what to watch out for.”

“Do we have to go back? I really don't want to see him again, and I'm afraid of my parents finding me.” Sam’s heart aches with how young and lost Jensen sounds. But he can’t let a demon continue to hurt innocent people, especially children. 

So Sam just nods. “We can't just let this demon continue to prey on the kids in your church, Jensen. But you won't have to see him, and before we go anywhere near there I'll make sure you have as much protection as possible.”

Jensen looks somewhat relieved. “Okay. What are we going to do with my grandfather's Bible?”

“We'll wait til dark then we’ll take it into the woods behind the motel to salt and burn it.” Sam gets up, grabbing the Impala’s keys. “In the meantime, wait here. I'll be right back.” 

Sam digs around in the Impala’s trunk for a few minutes until he finds what he's looking for, an anti-possession charm that matches the ones he and Dean have tattooed over their hearts. He brings it back into the room and hands it to Jensen, who turns it over in his hands curiously.

“It looks like your tattoo,” Jensen says, intrigued. “What does it do?” 

“When you’re wearing it, you can’t be possessed by a demon,” Sam explains. “That’s why Dean and I have our tattoos, which are a lot harder to get off. We--”

Sam stops in mid-sentence as the blood drains from Jensen’s face, starkly accenting his freckles. His hand clenches convulsively, crushing the delicate charm. 

“It can possess me? Get inside me, make me do things?” Jensen’s calm doesn’t match his pallor, or the death grip he has on the charm Sam brought him. “I don’t want this, I want something permanent.” His voice rises a little, a hint of panic seeping in. “He kept me from opening the door. He made me stand still without even touching me. He could get this--” Jensen throws the mangled charm on the table--”off me without even thinking about it.” 

Sam feels helpless, mostly because he knows Jensen’s right. “It’s the best we have for right now, Jensen,” he says softly. “But if you want, we can get you a tattoo before we go back.” Sam opens his arms and Jensen falls against him, not crying, just holding on.

“This is never going to get better, is it?” Jensen asks, voice muffled against Sam’s chest. Sam can still hear his despair. “I’m never going to be safe again.”

“We don’t know that,” Sam says firmly. He pushes Jensen back just enough to meet his eyes. “First, we take care of your grandfather. Then, we find out what this demon wants with you.” Sam softens his voice. “It’s possible that he just saw a beautiful, vulnerable boy that he could hurt and took the chance. Demons are evil. They live for fear and chaos. It might be nothing more than that.”

Faint hope shines from Jensen’s eyes. “Do you really think so?”

Sam smiles down at him. He doesn’t want to give Jensen false hope, but without more info it’s impossible to say whether or not the demonic attack was random. “It’s possible. I won’t know more until we do some research and catch this son of a bitch.”

Jensen takes a deep breath that turns into a sigh. “Okay,” he whispers. Then, stronger, “Okay. But can we talk about something else for a little while? I just. I need a break.”

 

“I think we could both use a break,” Sam agrees. “We’ve got some time before we can salt and burn your grandfather’s Bible without raising too much suspicion.”

Sam tugs Jensen over to the bed and Jensen follows willingly, curling up with his head on Sam’s chest. Sam feels better immediately, and he can tell Jensen does as well, relaxing as Sam strokes his hair and shoulder. Jensen slips one hand under Sam’s shirt, just resting his hand on the bare skin right above Sam’s hip. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and Sam kisses the top of his head. 

“It’s fine,” he assures Jensen. And it is. He can feel the tension flowing out of both of them despite everything that’s going on. Jensen smooths his fingers over Sam’s skin in tiny circles, tracing out letters and shapes. It could be sexual but this time it’s just comfort, a connection that seems to go beyond just physical sensation. 

After a few minutes Jensen prompts him. “Would you tell me about Dean? I mean if it’s not too hard. I’m just kind of curious.”

Sam’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t mind,” he says at last. “Dean...when we were growing up he was my whole world. He kept me alive--I never would have made it without him. He was the only person I could really count on for most of my life, and he gave me everything he could, no matter how much it cost him. 

“He’s smart. He was never really interested in school, but he understands cars and machines with an instinct like nothing I’ve ever seen. The Impala is his baby--he’s rebuilt her from scrap and fixed her up more times than I can count.” Sam laughs ruefully. “There were times I wondered if he loved her more than me.”

“He’s one of the best hunters I’ve ever known. I mean, research isn’t his favorite thing, but he’s not as bad at it as he pretends to be. He’s forgotten more lore than most hunters will ever know, and he can pull trends and patterns from random data better than just about anyone I’ve ever met. He’s a brilliant tactician and he _cares_ , genuinely cares, about people more than anyone I’ve ever known. He loves this life because it lets him save people, random strangers, that no one else would ever think twice about helping.” 

Jensen smiles and hugs Sam a little tighter. “He sounds amazing. I hope I get to meet him one day.”

Sam laughs again. “I’m sure you will, but it’s not all sunshine and roses. He’s also annoying as hell--he wears the same socks for a week at a time then throws them on my pillow, loves onions and pizza and chinese food that he leaves in the fridge until it turns into Darwinism any time we stay put for more than a few days. And his singing voice is , but he can’t resist singing along to pretty much everything.”

Jensen groans. “Oh, God. My sister is like that, too. It’s _painful_.”

“And don’t get me started on TV. He loves Dr. Sexy and telenovas. I know practically every Jackie Chan movie by heart, and I think we’ve watched Braveheart more times than anyone else on the planet.”

Jensen giggles. “Hey, I love Jackie Chan! _And_ Braveheart!”

It’s Sam’s turn to groan theatrically. “Figures. You’re all alike, I swear.”

“Well, duh...we’re clones. Hey, do you have a picture of him?”

Sam blinks at the unexpected request. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got one in my wallet, hold on.” He pads across the room to the dresser and pulls an old and worn picture from his wallet, studying it for a moment before bringing it back to where Jensen is waiting. Sam settles in against the headboard, tucking Jensen under his arm as they look at the picture.

http://tinypic.com/r/2j2j0hj/9

“This was the year I kissed him,” Sam says quietly. “I was eleven, he was fifteen. I think we both knew it was coming, but he was still so shocked.”

“You were eleven?” Jensen asks, surprised. “That’s really young.”

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Sam says, watching Jensen carefully. “This is going to sound weird but...he and I are soulmates. We were each born with half of the same soul, and then the parts that make us _us_ sort of grew around those parts and melded with them. That’s how I know he’s not really dead. I can feel him, out there somewhere.”

Jensen gives him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? That’s a real thing? I thought that sort of thing was just a saying, a fairytale.”

“Maybe it is,” Sam says, shrugging. “But Dean and I were created to be together. We had a destiny, something we were supposed to do. But it meant one of us had to kill the other, so...to paraphrase Dean, we said _fuck that. Screw destiny, right in the face._ ”

Jensen laughs. “If you had told me any of this a month ago, I would have said you were crazy. I still half wonder.” He sobers for a minute. “But if you guys are soulmates, then what about me?”

Sam sighs. “Remember the complicated part? Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean it’s always easy. We still fight, sometimes a lot. He’s always putting himself in danger to save me because half the time he still sees me as a little kid. We’ve both been with other people, we’ve both loved other people. But in the end, it’s always _us_.” 

Jensen stirs, clearly not satisfied with Sam’s answer. “But--”

“And there’s something about you,” Sam says softly. “I don’t know what it is. But I want you here with me. I want to help you, to protect you, to see you happy. And I _want_ you, even though you’re half my age, which isn’t something that’s ever happened to me before.” He threads his fingers through Jensen’s. “You make me happy.”

Jensen smiles at Sam. “Me, too,” he whispers. He sits up abruptly and swings into Sam’s lap, settling warm and firm against him as he kisses Sam, slow and deep. Sam opens easily, willingly, hands coming to rest on Jensen’s slim hips. 

“Mmmm. This is nice,” Sam says, his lips curving into a smile under Jensen’s. 

“We’ve got some time to kill,” Jensen points out breathlessly. “We could use a distraction.”

Sam tries to think of all the things they should be doing instead, but those things seem very far away with Jensen’s lips moving slowly down the column of his throat. He slides his hands up to Jensen’s waist, his hands nearly meeting around the warm, soft skin. 

“We could,” Sam agrees, breath hitching as Jensen finds the sensitive spot under his jaw and bites gently. Jensen smiles wickedly--Sam can’t see his face, but he _knows_ \--and does it again, harder. Sam’s head falls back against the wall as his hips roll up into Jensen’s, the rough friction dragging a low moan from them both. 

Jensen drags Sam’s shirt up and over his head, laughing a little at the way his hair stands up everywhere. Sam retaliates by digging his fingers into Jensen’s ribs--he knows exactly where to aim, after all. Jensen collapses against Sam in a giggling heap and Sam pushes him over easily, pinning him to the bed and attacking ribs, elbows and knees until Jensen is shrieking with laughter and begging him to stop. 

Finally Sam flops over onto his back, done. His face hurts a little from laughing, and Jensen is curled up on side facing Sam, still hiccupping breathless little giggles. Sam turns to face him, pulling him close and kisses him gently. Jensen stretches out against him with a soft, contented sound that makes Sam want to keep him here forever, even as his heart aches for Dean. 

The quiet is broken by a loud ringing sound from Jensen’s phone on the nightstand. They startle apart, Jensen’s brow furrowing as he grabs for the phone. Sam nods tensely, and Jensen answers.

“Hello?” Jensen says cautiously.

“Jensen, it’s Chris. I can only talk for a minute,” Chris says rapidly. He sounds scared and grim. “Pastor Williams is dead. No one knows what happened but so far the official cause is being listed as heart failure so no one is looking too closely. But it happened yesterday, just a few hours after your parents announced you were missing. Wherever you are, just lay low, alright? Until this blows over.” 

“Chris, I--”

“Gotta go. This is a burner phone, but if they find out I called you, I’ll get in big trouble. Your parents are _pissed_ and I don’t know what they’re gonna do.” He hesitates. “Be careful and take care of yourself. Love you, man.” 

_click_

Jensen drops the phone onto the bed, face gone pale with shock. “Did you hear?” he asks Sam, and Sam nods. 

“Most of it,” Sam says. He grips Jensen’s chin, forcing the boy to look at him directly. “This isn’t your fault. Demons care nothing for the bodies they steal and rarely leave them alive. Do you understand?”

Jensen nods, a little color coming back into his face. “Does this mean my family will be safe?” he asks, and Sam feels a little guilty because he hadn’t even considered that possibility. “And we won’t have to go back?

Sam hesitates. “Seems likely. If the demon were going to attack your family, it probably would have done so before it left. Unfortunately it also means we’re back to square one with what the demon wants from you. Even worse it means that it most likely _is_ you that it wants since it left as soon as it found out you were gone.”

Jensen bites his lip, tears in his eyes. “What are we going to do?” 

“We’re going to take care of your ghost problem and get you some protection,” Sam says decisively. “Then we’re going to do what your friend suggested and lay low, somewhere that we can set up enough protections to really do some research into what’s going on between us and why this demon wants you. But the most important thing we’re going to do is keep you safe.”

Jensen gives Sam a watery smile. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

Sam and Jensen sit in silence for a few minutes. Sam watches Jensen for signs of another breakdown, but he seems to be holding up. Sam suspects that will likely change when he puts together what losing the demon really means--that they don’t know where it is or what it’s plans are, and they have no way to track it. Sam doesn’t want to alarm him, though--he’d rather wait to talk about it until after they’ve handled Jensen’s ghost problem.

“Alright,” Sam says at last. “We were going to be heading out before long anyway, so I think we should go ahead and get started.” He nods towards the bags by the door. “Most of our stuff is already packed. Let’s just grab whatever’s left and get out of here, okay?”

Jensen nods, seemingly glad to have something to do. He packs the little that’s left of his belongings while Sam loads what’s already packed into the car and comes back with a small piece of white cloth.

“What’s that?” Jensen asks, curious. 

“Sanctified altar cloth,” Sam says. He reaches for the Bible they believe is cursed and wraps it in the cloth. “Hopefully this will help dull the effects if we keep it wrapped up. I doubt it would work long term, but we just need to get to somewhere secluded by nightfall.”

Jensen smiles a little, shaking his head. “You’re kind of amazing,” he says, leaning up to kiss him, quick and sweet. “Thank you. For everything.”

Sam pulls him into a hug. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, smiling. “We’ve got a long way to go.”


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing they do after leaving the motel is stop by a drugstore. Sam reluctantly leaves Jensen in the car while he buys several boxes of salt, hair dye and a pair of glasses with plain lenses, anxiously checking the car the whole time. They both breathe a sigh of relief when he returns. Jensen doesn’t protest putting the glasses on, and Sam feels a surge of want when Jensen turns to face him. The glasses change him, make him look simultaneously older and more vulnerable and Sam can’t help leaning in to kiss him thoroughly before they leave the parking lot. 

Jensen pulls back with a slightly dazed smile. “Glasses, huh?” he says, touching his lips gently and Sam shrugs, grinning. 

“Can’t help it, you look sexy in them,” he says, and Jensen’s smile widens. He still looks a little pale, eyes dark and worried, but the shock of hearing about Williams is wearing off, much to Sam’s relief. 

They drive until it’s dark, keeping an eye out for someplace isolated. Sam had originally planned to burn the Bible in the wooded lot behind the motel, away from curious eyes, but now they have to improvise. Finally he pulls over at a deserted rest stop, as far away from the entrance and buildings as they can get. It’s not ideal, but the longer they wait, the greater the chance that Jensen’s grandfather could reappear as soon as they leave the car. 

“Wait here,” Sam orders. He gets the Bible from the trunk along with a box of salt, lighter fluid and matches. He picks a spot about twenty feet from the Impala and lays down a thick circle of salt big enough for him and Jensen, then another one a few feet away. When he’s done he waves Jensen over. 

“Stay in this circle,” Sam instructs Jensen. “Don’t come out unless I tell you to, okay?” 

Jensen nods, drawing in a deep breath. “Okay,” he says shakily. 

“Your grandfather is probably going to show up,” Sam warns. He tilts Jensen’s face up to his, making sure he’s focused on what Sam is saying. “But you’ll be safe as long as you’re in the circle, just like back at the motel. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Jensen nods again. “I’ll be right here,” he promises resolutely. 

Sam steps into the second circle and puts the Bible on the ground, careful not to touch it directly as he douses it with lighter fluid and salt. 

“Sam!” Jensen shouts, and that’s all the warning Sam gets before he feels an icy cold hand clench around his throat. The ghost is in the circle, cold fury radiating from him, each finger an icy, burning brand against Sam’s skin. Sam struggles for breath, trying to break free, but the ghost just tightens his grip, seemingly intent on choking the life from him.

“Papa!” Jensen shouts frantically, waving his arms. “Papa Ackles, it’s me, Jensen!” The ghost turns toward Jensen with a snarl, his grip loosening enough that Sam can finally pull free. He falls to his knees, gasping as he tries to light the Bible with trembling hands. Flames are just licking across the corner when Sam feels icy fingers sink into his shoulder with far more strength and power than they should possess. He shouts at the sudden pain, hands coming up to force the ghost away by instinct. 

“Sinners,” the ghost hisses, and throws Sam bodily across the salt line. Sam lands heavily on his shoulder, rolling as best he can and coming up in a defensive crouch. The ghost tries to follow then howls in frustration, flickering as it throws itself against the salt barrier again and again. 

Sam staggers over to the second circle and puts a comforting arm around Jensen’s shoulder, drawing the frightened boy into his arms. They watch together as the flames flare furiously, filling the circle with a tower of light that consumes both the book and the ghost before collapsing into darkness.

“Is that it?” Jensen whispers in awe. “Is he really gone?” 

“He’s gone. And you did great.” Sam smiles down at Jensen. “In fact, you probably saved me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jensen asks anxiously. He pulls at Sam’s collar, paling when he sees the ugly ring of bruises around Sam’s throat. “What about your shoulder? Can you move it?”

“I’m a little sore but I’ll be fine,” Sam says reassuringly. “I promise.” He holds Jensen, just breathing for a moment. “Let’s scatter this salt and get out of here before anyone shows up,” he says at last. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we stop.”

Jensen nods and starts kicking at the salt, destroying the circle they’re standing in. Sam nods approvingly and takes care of the other circle, grabbing Jensen’s hand and leading him back to the car when they’re done. 

“So this is what you do? All the time?” Jensen asks curiously as Sam stows the supplies in the trunk. “I mean...you could have been hurt. Killed, even. Why would you…?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can,” Sam says quietly, coming around the side of the car. “Most people would never believe what just happened. They’d rather lock someone away, or deny what they saw until they were dead. It’s just human nature.” Sam shrugs. “Even if someone accepted what they'd seen or felt before it was too late, most people have no idea what to do. And...I don't want people to live in fear. Most of _them_ \-- ”Sam sweeps his arm out to encompass the world--”will never encounter a ghost or a werewolf or a vengeful spirit. They don't need to look over their shoulders forever.”

Jensen leans back against the warm metal and pulls Sam close, burying his face in Sam’s chest as he hugs him tightly. “Thank you,” he says, voice muffled but sincere. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me.”

Sam shrugs, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “It’s what we do,” he says, smiling down at Jensen as he strokes his hair. “But for the record, you’re welcome, it was my pleasure, and I’m very glad I found you.” 

Jensen leans up into Sam for a quick kiss. “Let’s get out of here. I want to get something to eat….and maybe pick up where we left off earlier?” He rolls his hips against Sam experimentally, and Sam can feel that Jensen is already half hard. It stirs an answering hunger in Sam, one that he doesn’t want to wait to satisfy. 

“Well,” Sam says thoughtfully. “I was planning to drive all night, but as long as we’re here….all alone…..in the dark...” He nudges one knee between Jensen’s legs, forcing them apart gently as he presses against Jensen back against the Impala’s warm metal side and leans in to bite at the bruise on Jensen’s throat.

Jensen moans, hips stuttering against Sam’s thigh for a brief moment before Sam pulls away and drops to his knees. Jensen stares down at him dazedly, comprehension slowly filling his eyes as Sam tugs open his jeans and mouths at the hard, hot line of Jensen’s cock through his boxers. 

“Oh, God,” Jensen mutters, head falling back against the car. “Sam. Sam, please--”

“Shhh,” Sam whispers, smirking up at him. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” He pulls down the waistband of Jensen’s briefs and rubs his cheek over the sharp jut of Jensen’s hipbone. His soft _mmmm_ slips out into the night along with Jensen’s hissed “ _Sam_ \--” and Sam remembers that they don’t have all night, that anyone could pull in next to them and see. It sends a thrill through him, the idea that anyone could see him claiming Jensen as _his_. 

“Shhhh….” Sam catches Jensen’s eyes, wild and dark, holding them as he licks a long stripe up the underside of Jensen’s dick. Jensen’s hips jerk convulsively, leaving a shiny smear along Sam’s cheek, and Sam pushes him back, holding him steady against the car. 

“Oh, God,” Jensen moans under his breath. “Oh, God--oh God--” His hands flutter around Sam’s head, not quite daring to touch. 

“Go ahead,” Sam says encouragingly. “Do it.” He catches one of Jensen’s flailing hands and presses a kiss to the palm before turning back to the task at hand. Jensen’s hands land heavy on Sam’s head, tangling with his hair, and Sam _mmmms_ his approval before catching Jensen’s eyes again and swallowing him down in one smooth motion.

Jensen’s hand clenches in Sam’s hair, his strangled cry filling Sam’s ears. The taste of him fills Sam’s mouth, bitter salt and a tinge of sweat and smoke, so much like Dean that Sam nearly loses himself in the sensation, surrounded and overwhelmed with _Dean_. One hand drops from Jensen’s hip to fumble open his own jeans as he pulls himself out with a moan that vibrates through them both. Sam takes Jensen as deep as he can before pulling back to dig his tongue into Jensen’s slit, desperate to taste him again.

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh _fuck_ ,” Jensen groans raggedly as Sam hums around him. “Sam, I--”

Sam pulls back long enough to gasp, “Do it, come for me--” and the words aren’t even out of his mouth before the first hot splash lands on his upturned face. Sam barely has to touch himself before he’s coming, pleasure so intense it’s nearly pain throbbing through him with every drop that hits his skin. 

_Dean,_ his mind whispers. “ _Jensen,_ ” Sam says hoarsely, and the boy falls to his knees in a daze. 

“Sam--” and they’re kissing, sticky messy hot. Jensen smells like sex and smoke when he pulls back to grab Sam’s hand and bring it to his mouth. He licks it clean, sucks every drop off Sam’s fingers while Sam’s other hand clutches his shirt convulsively. 

“Fuck, Jensen,” Sam groans, and Jensen grins at him before deliberately licking a long string of white off Sam’s cheek. Sam shudders when Jensen kisses him again, tasting both of them together, and he doesn’t know how but he’s halfway to hard again just from making out in the parking lot. 

Finally Sam pulls back reluctantly, aware that they're pushing their luck pretty hard. He staggers to his feet, dragging Jensen with him to the back of the Impala to dig out the pack of wet wipes he and Dean keep in the trunk. 

Jensen smirks when he sees them. “I guess you guys get carried away sometimes, huh?”

Sam starts to answer without thinking -- _blood’s a bitch to get out of the upholstery_ , he almost says, and then the memory of how Jensen smelled when Sam first found him, clean and pure and _innocent_ hits him like a blow to the gut. He feels almost nauseous remembering how hard he'd just gotten off on Jensen smelling like Dean, on his corruption. He offers Jensen the ghost of a smile, nodding. 

“It's been known to happen a time or two,” he says with a forced chuckle that Jensen takes at face value as they clean up.

When they're done Sam takes a deep breath and steps back, running his hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says, “Let's get out of here before someone else shows up.” 

Jensen steps back into Sam’s space. “Or we could just stay here,” he suggests coyly, pressing against Sam warm and eager. “The backseat looks pretty comfortable right now.” 

That gets a real laugh out of Sam, snapping him out of the memories he'd fallen into. _It's not my fault,_ he tells himself. _I **saved** him. _ A wave of affection and desire washes his doubts away as Jensen smiles at him suggestively.

“Yeah, not so much,” Sam says, shaking his head with a small smile of his own. “Trust me, I spent most of my formative years, and a few after that, in the backseat of that car and it’s nowhere near as big as it looks.” He tugs Jensen flush against him again, unable to resist the urge to touch him when he's so close. “Besides, if we stay here I’m gonna end up doing things that are _much_ more enjoyable in a bed.”

Sam can see Jensen’s flush even under the dim fluorescent lights of the parking lot. “Yeah?” he whispers, breath hot against Sam’s lips, and Sam nods.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go find a bed.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“So where are we headed?”

They’ve been on the road for a couple of hours, driving straight through to put some distance between themselves and the motel where Chris had contacted them in case the call had been traced. Jensen had talked for awhile about his family and friends with a longing that made Sam’s heart ache for him before they’d fallen quiet, just enjoying each other’s company. It reminded Sam of long days and nights with Dean between cases, nothing to do but drive until they found another case. Sam misses those days more than he ever thought he could.

Jensen’s voice pulls Sam out musing and back to the present. He has his back against the door again, trying to get comfortable, a struggle Sam remembers all too well. There's no deliberate seduction in Jensen’s pose this time, but Sam still feels that tug of sense memory, of want. Jensen has taken off his glasses and Sam can see his eyes clearly, heavy lidded and blinking sleepily as he smiles at Sam and yawns. 

“Not sure yet,” Sam tells him, forcing his eyes back to the road. He’s teased Dean about this for years, but he gets it now that he’s the one driving. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment, wants to remember every expression, every smile, every frown, every eyeroll. “But we need to do a little research, find out what your parents are doing and what’s being said about Williams’s death.” 

“Oh. Yeah. I want to see how Megan is holding up. I know she’s got to be worried about me.” Jensen yawns again and shifts, trying to get comfortable. 

“You can get in the back seat if you want,” Sam offers. “I’m pretty used to driving on my own.” 

Jensen shakes his head, then grins at Sam. He shifts again, but this time toward Sam. He lays down across the front seat, knees bent almost against the door, head pillowed on Sam’s thigh, fingers just brushing Sam's inseam. “This alright?” Jensen asks, and Sam can hear the doubt in his voice underneath the confidence he wants to project. 

Sam smiles down at him, one hand dropping off the wheel to smooth Jensen's hair back fondly. “It’s fine,” he says quietly. “I spent more than one night just like this before I got a little too big to fold up like that.” 

Jensen relaxes abruptly, letting go of the tension he’d been holding onto with a deep sigh. His eyes droop shut and after a few minutes his breathing evens out as he falls asleep. Sam turns on the radio to a soft rock station and Jensen’s lips curve up slightly. 

In the quiet car, Sam's thoughts turn inward. He knows what he needs to do--get Jensen's tattoo, start investigating the connection between them. Look for new leads on what happened to Dean and how to find him. And, a little reluctantly, Sam admits to himself that there's a real chance he'll need to find someplace safe for Jensen to go if he decides he doesn’t want to be a hunter, somewhere his parents can't find him until he's eighteen. 

After some thought, Sam turns the Impala north, toward Kansas. The thought of going back to Lawrence makes his stomach clench and roil, but now that Bobby’s gone, if anyone can help him figure out what’s going on between him and Jensen, it’s Missouri. 

Once he makes his decision, Sam doesn’t drive for much longer. He’s sore and dirty and his blood is still humming with that familiar mix of adrenaline and exhilaration that he remembers from hunting with Dean coupled with the newness of having someone else with him. He glances down at Jensen, still asleep against his thigh, and pulls into the next motel he comes across. Jensen doesn’t wake up when the engine goes silent or when Sam opens the door, so Sam carefully slides from out from under him, easing his head down onto the warm leather. Sam closes the car door quietly and makes quick work of getting them a room and carrying their bags inside. 

“Come on, Jensen,” Sam coaxes, shaking Jensen’s shoulder gently. “I already got us a room, our stuff is inside. Now there’s just you.” He smiles down at Jensen in amusement. 

Jensen sighs, grumbles, but allows Sam to pull him from the car and into the motel room. He wakes up just enough to kick off his sneakers and jeans, then collapses in the nearest bed. Sam lays down a thick layer of salt in front of the door and walks past Jensen to the other bed, but Jensen catches his hand. 

“Stay with me?” he asks, blinking up at Sam sleepily. Sam looks at him in surprise but doesn’t hesitate. He _wants_ this, wants the comfort of holding Jensen close and keeping him safe, even if it’s just from his own subconscious. 

“Scoot over, then,” Sam says with a smile. He pulls the pulls the covers back and slides in next to Jensen, gathering the boy in his arms. Jensen curls up against his chest with a soft, unconscious sound of pleasure that goes straight to Sam’s heart. Sam falls asleep to the sound of gentle breathing and the smell of smoke and sweat and _Jensen_ filling his senses and doesn’t wake even once before morning. 

When Sam opens his eyes again, he’s being watched. He blinks up at Jensen in mild surprise, enjoying the faint flush rising over Jensen’s cheeks as he realizes he’s been caught staring, then his eyes drop closed as Jensen slowly leans down to kiss him. Jensen’s lips are soft and warm, moving slowly against Sam’s in time with the subtle rocking of his hips against Sam’s thigh, and Sam’s sleep addled body responds immediately. He pulls Jensen closer, swallowing the broken sound Jensen makes when Sam’s hand tightens on the small of his back, urging him to a faster rhythm. His fingers move under the waistband of Jensen’s briefs, and Jensen’s breath catches as Sam’s finger rubs lightly over his entrance, a shudder running through him. 

“Please,” Jensen gasps raggedly against Sam’s mouth, and Sam feels it like fire in his blood. He pushes harder, entering Jensen just enough to tease them both. Jensen makes a soft, frustrated noise of disappointment when Sam pulls back but Sam soothes it away.

“Soon,” Sam promises between kisses, and Jensen relaxes against him, one hand sliding down Sam’s chest to tease the waistband of his boxers. 

“Can I?” Jensen breathes against Sam’s neck. “Please, Sam, I want--” The shock of Jensen’s fingers on his cock, clumsy and tentative, sparks along every nerve, and Sam doesn’t try to hold back. He thrusts into Jensen’s hand, pulling him close for another kiss, and Jensen strokes him with more confidence, gathering the precome leaking from the tip to ease the way and thumbing the sensitive bundle of nerves under the head. It's nearly perfect, but there’s something else Sam wants, too.

Sam’s fingers wrap around Jensen’s wrist easily, so small and delicate in Sam’s hand. Jensen makes a small, wordless protest as Sam pulls Jensen’s hand away carefully, but he gets what Sam wants immediately when Sam tugs on the hem of his shirt and whispers “Take it off. I want to see you.”

Jensen flushes as he sits up to pull his t-shirt off then, after a moment of hesitation pushes his boxers down as well, tossing both to the side. “You too, then,” he says bravely, biting his lip as he looks down at Sam. His blush deepens when Sam lifts his hips and shoves his boxers off as well, sitting up to lick over Jensen’s abused lower lip before pulling his t-shirt off and dropping it onto the floor. 

“Come here,” Sam says, low and rough, and Jensen doesn’t hesitate, legs spreading wide and wanton over Sam’s hips, bare skin coming together in a searing line. Sam runs his hands up Jensen’s thighs, rough fingers catching at the smooth skin and firm muscle before landing on Jensen's hips. Heat coils low in Sam's gut, flickering up his spine as Jensen covers Sam's hands, lacing their fingers together as Sam guides him into a slow, easy rhythm. 

“Easy,” Sam whispers when Jensen tries to move faster. Jensen whines in frustration, green eyes huge and pleading, but Sam is too enthralled to go fast, despite the almost painful hunger growing inside him. Jensen looks beautiful like this, and so much like Dean that Sam's chest aches.

“Jensen,” Sam breathes, and pulls him down for a kiss, deliberately refusing to lose himself in the past.

“Sam, please, I need--” Jensen cuts himself off with a soft, eager sound. He rises up on his knees, shifting just enough that when he moves again, the flared head of Sam's dick scrapes slick and hot over Jensen's hole. 

Sam groans, his hands gripping Jensen tight for a moment before they slide off Jensen’s hips to his ass, fingers splayed over firm muscles as they dig in and spread him wide. Jensen falls forward with a sweet, hungry moan, his knees drifting farther apart, his cock smearing long sticky trails over Sam's firm stomach. He kisses Sam, hot and messy, _please please please_ dripping from his lips onto Sam’s.

“Shh,” Sam whispers into Jensen’s mouth. “Shh, I’ve got you.” His long fingers hold Jensen open as he moves hot and sweet between the firm globes of Jensen’s ass and imagines the mess he's leaving all over that tight pink opening. Jensen shudders against him, whimpers as he pushes back against Sam with short, sharp thrusts that drive the head of Sam’s cock over his opening again and again. Jensen drops his head to Sam’s shoulder, breath a quick hot stutter against Sam's throat as he moans, caught between the relentlessly sweet pressure on the sensitive rim of his hole and the rough friction on his cock as he drives down against Sam. It's not quite enough to send him over the edge until Sam turns his head and bites down hard on the bruise still visible on Jensen’s throat.

“Sam--Sam--God--” Jensen’s voice breaks, ragged and hoarse as he comes in hot thick streaks that fall across Sam's chest like liquid fire, like a livewire straight to Sam's dick. It knocks Sam loose from what little self control he had left, drags the hot buzz of pleasure under his skin into the open as he spills in a hot rush of pleasure that leaves him breathless and clinging to Jensen. Jensen makes a pleased, contented sound against Sam’s throat, completely spent, and Sam holds him close until they can both breathe again.

Finally Jensen stirs, sitting up and wrinkling his nose a little at the cooling mess between them. He smiles shyly at Sam though, and leans back down to kiss him. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’m _gross_.” He climbs off Sam and off the bed, then pauses.

“You know...you could always come with me.” Jensen gives Sam a coy smile over his shoulder. “I’m sure we could make it work _somehow_.” The look he gives Sam is devastatingly effective--short blonde hair rumpled invitingly, swollen pink lips parted on a smile, green eyes heavy with nearly innocent seduction. Sam's handprints linger on Jensen’s hips and ass where Sam held him open, red against the boy's fair skin, Sam's come drips down his thighs and the wave of pure _want_ that sweeps over Sam leaves him momentarily speechless.

Jensen’s smile falters a little under Sam's stare. “Or not,” he says, blushing, playing it off. The embarrassment in Jensen’s voice snaps Sam back into the present, reminds him what they still need to do. Sam laughs gently. “We need to leave sometime today,” he points out with a smile. He stands up and wraps his arms around Jensen, pulling him close. Jensen shivers, tilting his head back for a kiss, but Sam whispers in his ear instead. “And that’s not going to happen unless you get some clothes on pretty quick.”

Jensen squirms out of Sam’s embrace and gives him a pretend pout that doesn’t hide the happiness in his eyes. “Alright, alright.” He leaves the door open when he turns on the shower, smirking a little at the way Sam’s eyes follow him. 

Sam drops onto the bed with a groan when the shower curtain cuts off his view of Jensen. _gonna be the death of me,_ he thinks ruefully. He understands how Dean felt a little better now, trying to keep himself _and_ a healthy teenager under control. After a minute he grabs Jensen’s t-shirt and cleans himself off as best he can before getting dressed and grabbing his phone. Time to get down to business.

The first call Sam makes is easy. Michael Newman is all business, pleased to hear from a repeat customer and happy to provide Jensen with a protective tattoo. He doesn't even hesitate when Sam cautions that Jensen is under 18.

“If he needs help, he needs help,” Michael tells Sam matter of factly. “I'll not turn someone away if they're in danger.” His voice turns cheerful. “And starting ‘em early is good anyway. Hunters who grow up in the life are less likely to get themselves killed. Give me a week and I'll have everything you need, alright?”

“See you in a week,” Sam agrees, smiling. It's good to talk to someone who doesn't bear the weight of Sam's entire history, who just wants to help. 

Which makes the next call harder.

When Dean first disappeared, Sam had gone to Jodi Mills. They barely knew each other, but he didn't have a lot of options. She'd taken him in, gladly, but his grief had overwhelmed them both and he'd left in secret, waiting until she left for work one morning and sneaking away.

She hadn't called. Hadn't emailed. Hadn't left messages at any of his drop points, and at the time, his anger and sorrow and pain had convinced him she wanted nothing more to do with him, that she was glad he was gone. 

But the last few days have cleared his head, and he realizes that more than likely she was waiting for him to call her. Sam hadn't made their time together easy, and he couldn't blame her for waiting until he was ready to talk.

Sam stares at the number, then pushes it quickly before he can change his mind. It rings once, twice, then a familiar voice says “Sam? Is that you?” The hope and worry in Jodi’s voice tightens his throat for a moment, stealing his voice.

“Sam? God damn it. This better not be some OVP or something.” 

That startles a laugh out of Sam. “It--” He stops to clear his throat. “It’s EVP, Jodi. Electronic Voice Phenomenon.”

“It _is_ you.” The relief in Jodi’s voice rachets up Sam’s guilt. “Damn but it’s good to hear from you, kid. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

“Sorry I left you hanging like that, Jodi,” Sam says quietly. “I was in a bad place when I left, but I appreciate your help more than I can say.”

There’s a distinct sniffle on the other end of the line. “We were both going through a rough patch, Sam. It just...it stirred up a lot of memories, you know? But I’m glad you’re doing better--you _are_ doing better, right?”

Sam smiles and nods, even though Jodi can’t see it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing better, a lot better. I’m taking care of myself, doing a little hunting, nothing dangerous. But...I need a favor, Jodi. I’m sorry to have to ask. I wouldn’t if it weren’t important.”

The line goes silent for so long Sam thinks Jodi hung up on him. Then she sighs. “I can’t guarantee anything. But tell me what’s going on.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “Well, there’s this kid…his name is Jensen. His parents want to send him to a camp designed to turn gay kids straight, and if that doesn’t work they’re going to have him institutionalized. In preparation for going to the camp, they starved him for a week--all on the word of a demon-possessed pastor who thinks the kid has something he wants.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jodi says, shock and anger coloring her voice. “I assume he’s safe now or you would have told me.” She sighs again. “It might take a little while, but I’ll find someplace he’ll be safe. It’s probably best he not stay with me right now--people are just getting settled down again after you left.”

It’s not exactly what Sam wants to hear, but it’s better than nothing, possibly better than he deserves. “Thanks, Jodi. He’s a good kid, and he deserves a better chance than he’s gotten so far.” He hesitates. “There’s one other thing that might be important. Jodi, he looks like Dean.”

“I don’t understand,” Jodi says, puzzled. “What do you mean? Green eyes and freckles?”

“I mean, he looks enough like Dean when he was 15 that if I didn’t know better I might be fooled. Anyone who is willing to take him in needs to know that there might be repercussions from people or things with a grudge.”

“Well shit, Sam,” Jodi says in surprise. “That can’t be easy. How are you holding up?”

“It hasn’t been easy,” Sam admits. “But it helps that he’s a really great kid. Smart, funny. Braver than half the adults we’ve saved. Right now he’s pretty shaken up by everything going on. He wants an anti-possession tattoo, so we’re going to get that taken care of first thing.”

“Good idea. Let me know when you find out what his decision is, Sam.” Her voice is serious. “But try and convince him to get out of this life if you can. At least until he’s grown up a little.”

The shower is still running when Sam goes back inside, so he takes a few minutes to find the nearest place for Chinese delivery and call in an order. It’s nearly lunchtime, and Sam would rather eat before they get on the road. He orders one of everything he knows Jensen likes and boots up his laptop to do some research. 

What he finds makes it hard not to despise Jensen’s family. His parents have only just started officially looking for him--they told the press about the note he left about going to Colorado and that they didn't want the police involved in a ‘family matter’. They vehemently deny allegations of abuse despite pictures that were anonymously leaked to the press--Sam's pretty sure that must have been Jensen’s friend Chris, and he's glad Jensen has at least one good friend he can count on.

Jensen’s brother gives a sullen interview that’s basically a good riddance speech. The only one that seems genuinely upset is Jensen’s sister, Megan. Sam watches her cry on the news with dispassion, unwilling at this point to give anyone from Jensen’s family the benefit of the doubt. 

He supposes that technically it’s good news that Jensen’s parents aren’t especially concerned about him. Hiding him will be that much easier if no one is looking for him, though Sam doubts that Jensen will appreciate that in the long run. The best news he finds is that Williams death has been ruled natural causes, a heart attack according to the coroner’s office. Most disturbing, in a way, is the fact that Jensen has been ‘cleared’ of any suspicion in Williams’s death because it means there were suspicions to begin with.

A knock at the door interrupts Sam's thoughts at the same time the shower goes quiet. Jensen comes out a few minutes later as Sam is setting out their lunch and Sam feels his heart constrict. Jensen had found the box of hair dye Sam bought the night before and put it to good use while in the shower. 

The darker hair color emphasizes the green of Jensen’s eyes and makes his skin seem even more fair, his freckles standing out like tiny flecks of gold. He looks so much like the Dean Sam remembers most, the man he lost just a few months before that Sam can’t look away. He realizes he's staring when Jensen flushes faintly and rubs the back of his neck the same way Dean used to.

“That smells good,” Jensen offers after a moment, breaking the silence before it can become awkward. He smiles tentatively at Sam, who blushes himself at being caught staring so intensely. 

“Thanks, I….uh…” Sam clears his throat and tries again. “I did a little digging while you were cleaning up, I thought we could go over what I found while we eat.”

“What are they saying about me?” Jensen asks. “How’s my sister doing? I hope she’s not too upset.”

“She was crying in the interview I saw,” Sam admits reluctantly. “And there were some allegations of abuse because of what happened to you.”

Jensen looks worried. “They won't take her away, will they? My parents were mad at me, but they adore Megan.” He hesitates, torn. “Maybe I should go back. Tell them it wasn’t Mom and Dad.”

Sam shakes his head. “There's no way to know for sure what will happen,” he says quietly. “But there are some things you need to consider. As the victim of the abuse--” Sam holds up a hand to still Jensen’s protests.

“True or not, the State may think that you are. As the victim of the abuse, there’s a pretty good chance they won’t believe you if you deny it, unless you can give them another name. If you and Megan are put into foster care, you’ll most likely be separated. Not many families can take in two teenagers. If they DO believe you that your parents weren’t responsible, you’ll be placing yourself back under their control. That’s not safe for you, Jensen.”

“But now everyone knows about the things they--someone--did,” Jensen reasons. “If they try to hurt me now--” he stops, then continues slowly as realization dawns. “No one will believe me because I already said they didn't before.”

Sam gives him a moment to process the situation. “There's more,” he says gently. Sam doesn’t want to add to Jensen’s pain but he doesn't have a choice. “Pastor Williams _is_ dead. It was ruled natural causes, but it looks like there was at least some question initially because the articles I read stated clearly that you were no longer being considered a suspect.”

Jensen stares at him in stunned silence. “A suspect? I...I don’t understand.” 

“It seems like your parents and the church talked about the problems you’d had with Williams,” Sam says carefully. “When you disappeared, it raised some questions about what you might have done, questions that have been put to rest for now. If you go back, it’s impossible to say what might happen.”

Jensen’s face slowly crumples. “I ruined everything,” he whispers blankly. “Megan is in trouble, my parents hate me, people think I could have killed someone.” He drops his head to the table, his shoulders shaking, and Sam can’t hold out against the urge, the _need_ to comfort him. He’s around the table and kneeling next to Jensen in an instant, arm falling across the boy’s shoulders. Jensen turns to him immediately, folding himself into Sam’s open arms. He feels small and fragile in Sam's arms and a fierce determination wells up in Sam, a need to keep him safe, protected, for as long as he can. For as long as Jensen needs him to. 

Jensen doesn’t cry for long. Sam is surprised that he has any tears left after the last few weeks. He doesn’t move away from Sam, though, and Sam simply holds him, stroking his hair and his back comfortingly until at last Jensen sits up, wiping his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Sam, voice rough and shaky. “I just--last month I had a life and a family and friends, and now everything is gone. Except you.” 

It hits Sam like a punch to the gut. “Jensen…” Sam takes Jensen’s face in his hands and kisses him him softly, gently. “I’m here for as long as you need me,” he says quietly. “As long as it takes to keep you safe. I promise.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Jensen is safe from his grandfather, there are still other issues that he and Sam have to deal with. But even hunters need a break sometimes, and Sam is finding Jensen hard to resist.

Jensen smiles and nods, eyes still a little watery. “I know you will.” He wipes his eyes again and clears his throat then stands up and moves back to the table. “We should eat lunch, I guess, and get on the road?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sam agrees. They pick at their food, Jensen gradually eating with more enthusiasm as Sam tells him what they’re doing next. 

“We’re going to get you a tattoo to protect you from being possessed,” he explains. “But it will take the artist a week or so to get everything together, so in the meantime we’re going to go see an old friend of mine named Missouri.” 

Jensen looks at Sam expectantly. “Is she a hunter like you?”

Sam laughs. “Not exactly. She’s a psychic and an expert on witchcraft. She’s known Dean and I since we were kids.”

“A psychic?” Jensen asks hesitantly. “For real?” He pauses then, shakes his head and laughs at himself. “What am I even saying? Ghosts, demons...why shouldn’t there be psychics?” 

Sam just grins and kicks him under the table. “Don’t let her hear you thinking like that. She doesn’t take kindly to being questioned or disbelieved.” He taps the side of his head knowingly. “Not even up here.”

Jensen flushes bright red. “She--she can read our minds?” he stammers. “But what about...uh.” His eyes dart over to the bed and back to Sam, who grins even more broadly.

“I guess she’ll get an eyeful,” he says, chuckling a little. “To tell the truth, I think she mostly reads surface thoughts unless she’s invited to go deeper. Believe me, I don’t think she wanted details about me and Dean.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Jensen says under his breath, smirking a little. 

Sam kicks him again. “No perving on my boyfriend,” he scolds, nearly tripping over the word. But he’s deliberately trying to keep the conversation light-hearted, and Jensen’s smirk gets a little bigger. “But seriously. Try not to think about it while she’s actually _in the room_ and I think we’ll survive with our modesty intact.

“The other thing is, I talked to a woman who has helped me and Dean a time or two. Her name is Sheriff Jody Mills.” He hesitates. “I know you might not want to think about it now, but there might come a time that you want to settle down a little. Not be on the road all the time. She can find you a place to stay if you need a break, somewhere you can finish school and be a kid again.”

Jensen shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to leave you,” he says uncertainly. “I like being with you. I feel safe,” he finishes softly, pleadingly. 

Sam smiles at Jensen reassuringly. “I know. I like having you here, too. But Jody can keep you safe, too, and she might draw less attention than I do. It’s just something to think about, okay? You don’t have to make a decision right now, or anytime soon. I just want you to know the option is there.”

Jensen nods, looking a little happier. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Okay.”

After they finish eating, it’s Sam’s turn to shower. He makes quick work of it, wanting to get away from the motel and back on the road. It feels good to be moving with a purpose, to be working toward a solution rather than just drifting. Since he met Jensen, some of the fog of despair seems to have lifted from Sam’s brain, and he’s got a few ideas of what he’s going to do once they get Jensen’s tattoo and talk to Missouri about what might be going on between them.

Once they’ve packed up, Sam points the Impala north and he and Jensen settle into an easy, comfortable silence. Sam graciously allows Jensen to pick the music _Driver picks the music, Sammy, you know that_ and gets a brilliant smile in return. But Sam can’t keep his attention on the road.

Everything Jensen does is either endearing or erotic, from the way he sings along to Dean’s favorite songs, daring Sam to join in, to the way his lips plump obscenely around his highlighter as he continues reading and marking the book he'd been studying in his English class when he left. Every sidelong glance in Jensen’s direction makes concentration that much more difficult.

Sam is trying to focus on the road and not what the freckles peeking out from the hole in Jensen’s jeans might taste like when suddenly Jensen breaks the silence. 

“Hey, Sam, look!” 

Jensen's excitement drags Sam abruptly out of his thoughts. His eyes dart to the window and he just catches a glimpse of a sign along the road. 

GRANT COUNTY FAIR  
5 MILES

Sam looks over at Jensen and can’t help smiling at his eager expression. 

“Really?”

“Sure!” Jensen says enthusiastically. “It’ll be fun, and we can get out of the car for a little while. Please?”

Jensen’s excitement is infectious. Sam can’t deny the appeal of spending a few hours with Jensen at the fair, doing things that ordinary people get to do. And he wants to give Jensen a chance to forget everything happening in his life right now. He deserves a chance to relax and be a kid for a few hours. 

“Alright, alright,” Sam concedes, smiling. The entrance to the fair is coming up and Sam pulls in, paying the parking fee and picking a spot as far away from the other vehicles as possible. He takes Jensen’s hand before Jensen can get out of the car. 

“We have to play it kind of cool here, okay?” he reminds Jensen, and Jensen nods, his excitement dimming only slightly.

“I know, I know. But don’t think you’re getting out of a ferris wheel ride,” Jensen tells him, smirking. “And we’re definitely stopping at the top!”

After that, Sam lets Jensen drag him through the park. They stop for cotton candy, and Jensen’s lips turn cherry red and sticky sweet in moments. Sam can’t look away, and Jensen doesn’t help, catching Sam’s eyes and sucking the sugar off his fingers with a knowing smile. Sam distracts them both by stopping at the shooting gallery. After a couple of practice shots, Jensen is the proud owner of a pink and purple teddy bear that he happily names Samantha. He tucks ‘Samantha’ under his arm, laughing as he dodges the half hearted swat Sam aims at the back of his head. 

“Jerk,” Sam says affectionately. “I swear some things must be genetic.” 

“You love me,” Jensen answers confidently, then his eyes light up when he spots the roller coaster. “Come on!” 

They wait in line for a few minutes, Jensen chattering happily about going to the fair with Chris and his other friends back home, then pulls out his phone. 

“I want a picture,” he tells Sam, and shoves Samantha into Sam’s arms as he wraps one arm around Sam’s waist. “Smile!” Sam does, and Jensen clicks several pictures, fussing over the settings in between each one. Finally one of the other fair-goers offers to take the picture for them and Jensen’s face lights up. He wraps both arms around Sam and Samantha, Sam’s arm fitting naturally into place around his shoulders as they both smile for the picture. 

“Perfect,” Jensen decides, showing Sam. It’s a beautiful picture, both of them carefree and grinning. Sam can’t remember the last time he looked so genuinely happy. Before Dean disappeared...maybe that brief time between getting his soul back and Castiel breaking the wall Death had erected in his mind. That had been a good time, both he and Dean so happy to be together and well, despite the timebomb in Sam’s head. After that….

Sam shakes away the memories, forcing himself to focus on Jensen as he chats with the girl who’d taken the picture for him. He wants to be present, living in the here and now, not in the past, at least for a little while longer. 

Finally, they reach the platform and hand over their tickets. Sam groans silently when he sees the cars, but folds himself carefully into the tiny space and spreads his legs so that Jensen can sit in front of him. Jensen settles in with a knowing smile, warm and heavy in the vee of Sam’s legs, arching subtly back against Sam as he makes himself comfortable. Sam is dizzyingly hard in seconds, and Jensen’s low hum of pleasure as Sam rocks against him is just barely covered up by the rattle and clank of the ride starting up. Jensen puts Samantha in his lap and drags Sam’s hand down behind the stuffed toy, his whispered _please_ irresistible. 

“ _Jensen,_ ” Sam breathes against Jensen’s ear, and Jensen shudders against him, delicious friction against Sam’s cock. There’s no time to get Jensen’s jeans open, but Sam can feel the line of Jensen’s dick under his hand, squeezes and kneads the hard flesh as Jensen gasps and writhes against him in the tight confines of the car. It’s over all too soon, neither of them satisfied when the car pulls back into the station minutes later, and Sam has to awkwardly tug his shirt down over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. 

Jensen, of course, has Samantha to hold in front of him, cooing at the silly bear and smiling innocently at Sam from under his lashes as they stroll through the fair. Sam wins several more stuffed animals--a skunk, a dragon, and a creepy doll that Jensen refuses to touch. Jensen gives them all away to kids who didn’t manage to win anything, but he keeps Samantha tucked safely under his arm. 

After awhile they start getting dirty looks from the vendors, and they move over to the bumper cars, the merry-go-round, the Spinnerette. Jensen eats half his body weight in cotton candy, funnel cake and hot dogs, occasionally holding up a bit for Sam to eat from his fingers, pouting in disappointment when Sam refuses and making sure Sam is watching as he licks each finger clean. Sam thinks he might feel a little ridiculous under other circumstances, but Jensen’s laugh drags him out of his own head and Sam enjoys himself far more than he’d expected to, especially after the tension of that morning. When the afternoon finally tips past evening into full dark and lights start coming on all over the fair, Jensen grabs Sam’s hand and drags him over to the Ferris wheel. The crowds are thinning out and there’s no line, to Jensen’s obvious delight. He pulls Sam up to the booth eagerly and hands over their tickets. 

“Excuse me,” Jensen says, smiling shyly when the operator tries to wave them through. “Since there’s no one else here, do you think we could have a few minutes at the top? I’ve never done that before and I want to take some pictures.” 

The operator looks around at the empty queue and shrugs. “Sure, kid. I don’t mind if your dad don’t. Just don’t rock the cart too much, okay? And hold on to the rail.” 

“We will!” Jensen chirps happily.

“Thanks,” Sam says, and holds out his hand to the operator, who gives him an odd look. He brightens when he finds the twenty tucked into Sam’s palm. 

“Enjoy your ride, sir,” he says with more enthusiasm, locking the bar in place. “I’ll do my best to give you a good ten minutes or so, should be able to get lots of pictures.”

Once they get off the ground, Jensen snuggles against Sam, tucking himself under Sam’s arm. The night air is cool and clear and the view is pretty spectacular, trapped as they are between the lights on the ground and a blanket of stars. True to his word, the operator stops the wheel at the very top. 

“Kiss me?” Jensen whispers, stars in his eyes, and _God_ Sam is still only human, no matter what they say about him. He tilts Jensen’s head back and brushes his lips gently, catching Jensen’s sigh before it escapes into the night. Jensen moves closer, lips parted in clear invitation as his hand slides slowly up Sam’s thigh to where Sam is already straining against his jeans. 

Sam captures Jensen’s mouth again, a not quite rough clash of lips and tongues and teeth as he moves carefully against Jensen’s hand. Even so, the cart rocks alarmingly, making Jensen giggle. 

“We’re gonna die up here if you keep that up,” Sam mutters under his breath, and Jensen laughs again. 

“I really just kind of want to make out,” he confesses a little shyly. “And maybe take a picture or two?” 

It’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “I didn’t realize you were serious about that,” he teases, then says more seriously, “We can do whatever you want, Jensen. Even if it’s just take pictures.” 

Jensen leans up to kiss the corner of Sam’s mouth then pulls out his phone. “Say cheese,” he orders, pressing his cheek against Sam’s, and snaps a quick picture. 

“My turn,” Sam says, taking the phone from Jensen’s hand. He holds it out at the right angle then pulls Jensen close for a kiss as he presses the button. Jensen kisses him back eagerly, camera forgotten, until they feel the cart lurch underneath them. 

They’re both rearranged and smiling by the time the reach the ground. Jensen thanks the operator profusely, and Sam tries not to bristle when the man openly stares at Jensen’s reddened, kiss swollen lips. 

“Come on, _Dad,_ ” Jensen says, eyes sparkling with suppressed amusement as he tugs Sam away. “We gotta get home.” 

They trudge back to the Impala in comfortable silence. Jensen slips his arm around Sam’s waist and Sam’s arm comes up automatically to fall across his shoulders. It feels good, happiness bordering on euphoria making Sam pull Jensen even closer, press a soft kiss to Jensen’s temple before he lets him go. Jensen grins at him over the roof of the car, quick and bright, the perfect end to the day. They both slide into the Impala, doors opening and closing in unison, in sync on a level that Sam’s only felt with Dean. He starts to speak, but Jensen is right there, in his space, eyes dropping closed as he kisses Sam. 

“Thank you,” Jensen whispers against Sam’s lips. He pulls back to his side of the car, eyes wide and soft in the near darkness. “It felt really good to forget about everything and just have some fun, you know?”

“Yeah, it did.” Sam smiles at him, surprised by how true the words are. He can’t deny that he feels better than he has in months. He starts the car as Jensen settles against the door and pulls out his phone, twisting in the seat to take one last picture as they drive away.

It’s long after midnight when Sam finally pulls into the parking lot of a cheap, rundown motel. Jensen had stayed up with him for awhile talking about anything and everything that came to mind, but the long day and the soothing hum of the Impala’s tires had eventually lulled him to sleep. Sam wakes Jensen up with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I'm going to get our room,” Sam says softly, not wanting to startle him. Jensen yawns and opens his eyes, smiling sleepily up at him.

“'kay,” Jensen says, and sits up, shaking his head a little groggily.

Signing in take barely five minutes, the clerk behind the scarred desk far more interested in the tinny screams coming from her portable TV than anything Sam might have to say. She shoves a key toward him with a perfunctory smile turned gruesome by the the red light of the Vacancy sign in the front window.

“Room 15,” she says, bored, and Sam flees back to the Impala before she smiles at him again. 

Jensen's waiting for him when he to back to the Impala, slouched against her side like a fallen angel. He grabs his pack when Sam opens the trunk, knocking against Sam's shoulder in a way that's already achingly familiar as he flashes Sam a brilliant smile.   
Sam isn’t surprised when Jensen drops his pack next to the bed and collapses with a happy sigh. He kicks off his shoes and jeans after a minute, pushing him himself up onto his elbows to watch Sam as he lays down their salt lines.

“You coming?” he asks hopefully, but Sam shakes his head. 

“Not yet,” he says, smiling at Jensen's disappointed pout. “I need to do some reading first. You get some sleep, okay?”

“You can read in the morning, can’t you?” Jensen wheedles shamelessly. “I’ll do some scanning, you can do look up your stuff...and we can still get on the road by noon, right?” Sam hesitates, the _want_ that lives constantly under his skin flaring into life. Jensen is beautiful, tousled and warm, green eyes watching Sam hopefully from under thick lashes. He licks his lips and sits up, eyes never leaving Sam as he yanks his t-shirt up and over his head and tosses it aside. Pink creeps up and over his cheeks, highlighting the freckles sprinkled over his nose, and Sam’s ability to resist is seriously compromised as Jensen stands up and crosses the short distance between them. 

“Thought you were tired?” Sam teases, his hands falling naturally to the smooth skin of Jensen’s waist. Jensen shakes his head slowly and leans up for a kiss. Sam pulls back after a moment to smile down at Jensen. “Mmmm. I think my research can wait until morning after all.” 

Jensen’s face lights up. “Then for the rest of the night you’re mine.” He grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him toward the bed. 

Sam comes along willingly. “Oh, is that so?” 

Jensen smiles impishly. “Yup.” 

When the reach the bed Sam grabs Jensen and lifts him up onto the bed. Jensen grins down at him. “I like this,” he says, leaning down to kiss Sam. Sam lets him, sliding his hands down to knead the firm muscles of Jensen’s ass, to press against the tender skin at his center. Jensen pushes back against Sam's fingers with a soft _mmmm_.

“Please, Sam?” Jensen asks, impossible to resist. “Please. I want you to.” 

“Jen…” Sam reaches up to catch Jensen’s face gently between his hands. Jensen’s eyes are huge, pupils blown wide til only the thinnest sliver of green glows down at Sam. He licks his lips, full and pink and spit shined, and in that moment Sam can’t think of anything he wants more than to be inside Jensen, to touch every part of him. “Yeah,” Sam says, voice low and rough. “I want that, too.” He kisses Jensen hungrily, easing him down onto the bed and Jensen surrenders to his weight and strength, legs parting readily when Sam pushes between them. He moans against Sam’s lips when Sam’s thigh pushes snugly against his balls, hands clutching at Sam’s shoulders when he pulls back. 

“Sam,” he whispers softly, chasing their lost connection. 

“Shh.” Sam pulls his shirts off and tosses them aside, then leans down for another quick kiss before he stands up, unable to resist the temptation spread out before him. He strips quickly, enjoying the appreciative sounds Jensen makes, and digs through his duffle bag until he comes up with a half empty bottle of lube and a box of condoms he hasn’t even looked at in months. 

Jensen’s eyes widen when he sees the condoms, and he bites his lip, gaze darting down to linger on Sam’s cock, huge and heavy and hard between his legs. Sam expects him to be worried, or even afraid, but instead he points at the condoms. 

“Do you have to?” he asks uncertainly. “I want just you.” He flushes, fair skin pinking halfway down his chest. “I want to feel _you._ Please?”

Sam hesitates. He shouldn’t give in. He should set a good example, and he damn well knows it. But he hasn’t been with anyone in months, and he’s been tested since his last blackout drunk. 

“I trust you,” Jensen whispers, sitting up and stretching his hands out to take Sam’s, and Sam nods. It feels dangerously reckless, but Sam hasn’t been able to think straight since he met Jensen, and he throws caution to the wind even as he recognizes the wrongness of what he’s doing. He’s never had bare sex with anyone but Dean, but this feels _right_.

Sam tosses the box back toward his bag and crawls up the bed to where Jensen is waiting for him. Jensen lifts his hips to push his boxers off, but Sam stops him, tugging away the last bit of cloth between them himself as he kisses Jensen gently.

“You’re beautiful,” Sam whispers, and Jensen blushes, skin heating up under Sam’s lips as the blood rises to the surface. Sam works his way down Jensen’s throat, every kiss a memory and a revelation as he follows the meandering map of freckles dotting Jensen’s skin. He nibbles along the edges of the yellowing bruise still showing at the base of Jensen’s throat, holds him down as he sucks a new bruise over his heart where his tattoo will eventually go. His thumbs sweep across Jensen’s nipples, lingering there when Jensen shivers under his touch, tugging the delicate nubs into sharp peaks before setting his mouth to them. Jensen writhes underneath him, begs Sam for more, fingers tight in Sam’s hair as he pushes up into Sam’s mouth. 

Finally, Sam moves on, giving the reddened, bruised skin a final soothing lick before slowly moving further down Jensen’s body. He mouths at Jensen’s hips bones and the sucks bruises into the soft skin of his belly, kisses each golden spot on his thighs as he makes a place for himself between Jensen’s legs. Jensen shudders, head thrown back to expose the long line of his throat, his breathy gasps and pleas adding fuel to the fire in Sam’s blood. Sam takes Jensen’s cock in his mouth, holding Jensen’s hips down as licks and sucks greedily, wanting every taste, every sound that he can pull from Jensen’s body. Jensen’s hand tangles in Sam’s hair again, fingers spasming as Sam swallows around him. Sam lets Jensen hold him there, let’s Jensen push mindlessly into his throat as tears leak from his eyes, and it’s all Sam can do not to come himself when the first hot, salty drops hit his tongue. He pulls back to catch the last few drops on his lips, leaning up to kiss Jensen, trade his taste back and forth between them. 

Jensen kisses Sam back without hesitation, makes a pleased, hungry sound as he licks at Sam’s lips and chin. “Do you want…?” he asks, reaching between them to run a finger over the wet head of Sam’s cock where it’s pushing against the softness of Jensen’s belly. He looks a little embarrassed. “I thought we were going to...you know…but I guess I kinda messed that up.” 

Sam pushes into Jensen’s hand with a groan, then shifts away. “Don’t want to come yet,” he murmurs against Jensen’s throat between open mouthed kisses. “Wanna open you up and slide so deep inside you you’ll feel me for days.” Jensen sucks in a ragged breath when Sam’s hand closes around his cock, still sensitive but already trying to fill again at Sam’s words.

“Do you know what I’m going to do, Jensen?” Sam asks softly, and Jensen lowers his eyes, blushing so prettily that Sam has to kiss him again. “It’s alright if you don’t. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, okay?” This time Jensen nods. 

“Like the other night?” he asks, a hint of eagerness coloring his voice. “I--I liked that. A lot.” 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes against Jensen’s lips, trying not to break down and just rut against Jensen until they both come. “That, and more,” he says, voice going low and rough. “Spread your legs for me.” Jensen makes a small sound, eager and shy at once, that goes straight to Sam’s dick. Sam picks up the lube and coats his finger, pausing to kiss Jensen for a long moment while it warms. “I’m going to open you up with my fingers first,” he murmurs through open mouthed kisses along Jensen’s jaw. Jensen shivers, hands locked on Sam’s shoulders as Sam slowly pushes into him with one finger. His eyes fall to half mast and he breathes out shakily as Sam moves inside him. Sam watches his face, stroking Jensen’s stretched rim with his thumb. 

“Good?” Sam asks when Jensen’s breathing evens out. “You want more?”

“Yes. Yes. _Please._ ” Jensen lifts his face to Sam, smearing hot, messy kisses across his lips and cheek as Sam works a second finger inside him. Sam knows it’s got to hurt, at least a little, but Jensen doesn’t complain, just begs for more as Sam works him open slowly. Sam adds a third finger too quickly, his own growing need driving him on, but Jensen kisses away his apology and clenches tight around his fingers with a whispered _please_. Sam finds Jensen’s prostrate and strokes it until Jensen is shaking with need, flushed and sweating and the most beautiful sight Sam has seen since Dean left. 

“Sam, please.” Jensen's voice cracks, and Sam looks up from where his fingers are buried in Jensen's body. “Please, I can't--” There are tears in Jensen’s eyes and sweat sheening his temples, a fine tremble running through his muscles. Sam feels a moment of guilt--Jensen isn't Dean, he's just a kid who's been on edge halfway to forever. He pulls his fingers free, the gape his fingers leave behind reminding Sam of his own need. He kisses Jensen gently with murmured apologies and takes Jensen’s hand, pouring clear liquid into his palm from the almost empty bottle. Jensen’s eyes are huge as he meets Sam’s gaze, tears trembling on his lashes as he slowly slicks Sam’s cock. 

“I’m ready.” He sounds so young, so determined,

“Relax,” Sam orders gently, and Jensen tries to obey. He gasps as Sam’s cock nudges at his entrance and spreads his legs wider, begging silently for more.

“Breathe out and relax, Jen,” Sam says, voice strained. He kisses Jensen and thrusts hard, pushing the flared head through the still tight ring of muscle. Jensen arches, twisting underneath him with a sharp cry, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulder. Sam works his way in with slow, steady thrusts, opening Jensen around him as he sinks in inch by inch. Jensen shudders with each push, beautiful little cries fucked out of him with each flex of Sam’s hips, his legs locked around Sam’s waist. 

Sam bottoms out with a final push, his head falling to rest against Jensen’s, so tightly connected Sam swears he can feel Jensen’s heartbeat throbbing around him. They just breathe for a moment, sharing air as well as kisses, before Sam eases back. “God, you’re tight,” he breathes, words squeezed out through gritted teeth. His head is spinning, his world narrowed down to brilliant green eyes and the tight, wet heat he’s thrusting into, slow and deep and careful. 

Jensen’s nails dig into his shoulders. “Harder, Sam, please, you won’t hurt me,” he whispers feverishly, and Sam can’t deny him anything. He forces Jensen’s legs back higher, wider, folds him nearly in half as he searches for the right angle. Jensen’s cry, shocked and raw, tells him when he’s found it and Sam kisses him, eats the sound straight from his lips as Jensen falls apart around him. Sam fucks him through it, lets the tight clench of Jensen’s body drag him over the edge as well, until there’s nothing left of the world but each other.


	14. Chapter 14

They don’t make it back on the road by noon. 

Sam holds Jensen after he eases out of his body, kissing him, telling him how beautiful and amazing he is. He can’t keep his hands away from where Jensen is open and sore, raw and puffy and red, can’t help the way his fingers drift down to stroke over the tender flesh and slip inside to pet Jensen’s soft, warm insides. They talk for awhile, about everything and nothing, and when Jensen’s eyes start to droop Sam makes sure he’s cleaned up and comfortable before he falls asleep. As tired as he is, Sam stays away a little longer, watching him, before falling into a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep himself. 

When they wake up, the sun is shining into the room at an angle, bright and full. Sam yawns and stretches, realizing they’ve overslept enough that getting back on the road today isn’t going to happen. He leaves Jensen curled up in bed, sound asleep, and gets dressed, trudging down to the office to pay for a second night. Luckily they seem to be the only guests, and the woman at the desk just shrugs and hits a few keys on her computer when Sam asks if they can stay in the same room. Sam helps himself to the free coffee on offer, grabbing a cup for Jensen as well. A stack of probably stale danish teeters on a plate next to the coffee maker and Sam just grabs the whole thing, balancing it precariously with the hot coffee. 

Jensen is awake when Sam gets back to the room, sitting huddled in the middle of the bed. His eyes widen when Sam walks through the door, and he’s across the room in seconds. Sam barely has time to set breakfast on the dresser before Jensen is in his arms, clinging to him. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” he says, voice muffled. Sam can still hear the panic coloring his words, and feel his heart racing. 

“Hey, easy,” Sam says soothingly. “I just went to get us another night since it’s already almost noon and there’s no way we’re getting out of here before they charge us again.” He tips Jensen’s face up for a kiss. “I’m sorry I scared you, I just wanted to let you sleep.”

Jensen gives him a watery smile. “Sorry, I don't mean to be a baby. I just...I had bad dreams and when I woke up and you weren’t here I thought maybe _you_ were the dream.” He shudders, arms tightening around Sam again. 

Sam leads Jensen over to the room’s only armchair and pulls him down into his lap. Jensen rolls his eyes a little but curls himself up as small as possible, relaxing into Sam’s arms. “I’m not leaving,” he tells Jensen, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Why don’t you tell me about the dreams? It helps to talk about them.” 

Jensen shakes his head. “I don’t really remember,” he says slowly. “I was just...sad. I missed you, it was like you were dead or like I'd never see you again, and my heart was breaking.” His voice cracks. “Then I woke up and you _were_ gone and I just--”

Sam strokes Jensen’s back, just holding him until he feels calmer. “It’s probably cold now, but I found you some coffee,” he says, nodding to the cups on the dresser. 

“Really?” Jensen perks up at that, inhaling deeply. He stands up, a little stiffly, and Sam can see the blood start to rise in his cheeks. It takes a moment for him to realize what the halt in Jensen’s step means. It makes his cock jerk, rising despite the faint guilt he feels. He closes his eyes, trying to quell the want stirring in him but the image of Jensen’s face as he comes, as Sam moves inside him, is all he can see on the back of his eyelids. He opens his eyes quickly, shifting in the chair and hoping Jensen doesn’t notice. 

Jensen picks up a cup and takes a sip, making a face that he tries to hide. He doesn’t look at Sam, but Sam can see the tips of his ears turning red. He looks miserable and embarrassed, and Sam isn’t going to let that stand. 

Jensen takes another polite sip of his coffee, trying not to grimace at the bitter, slushy taste, and Sam stands up, crossing the room to wrap his arms gently around him. He takes the cup out of Jensen’s hand and sits it down, then turns Jensen to face him. “I noticed you’re a little sore this morning,” he says quietly. Jensen looks mortified, but Sam doesn’t let him look away. “I was too, the first time Dean and I had sex.” Sam can’t help smirking the tiniest bit. “And there have been plenty of times since then when walking wasn’t exactly comfortable for him. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I feel like a stupid little kid,” Jensen confesses, his eyes flitting up to Sam’s and quickly away.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sam asks, and Jensen looks up at him, startled. “It’s kind of hot.” His fingers skim the bruise on Jensen’s neck then press harder, settling around his throat. “Like this. It reminds me of what we did, how much we both enjoyed it.” Jensen shivers at the touch, lips parting slightly around a breath that doesn’t come. Sam leans down slowly and kisses him, licking the bitter taste of bad coffee from Jensen’s mouth. Jensen moans, breathy and low and pained, and he strains forward against Sam’s hand, his embarrassment forgotten. Sam slides his hand into Jensen’s hair instead, uses it to tug him back until they are only breathing each other’s air. 

“But there's no need for you to hurt all the time,” Sam says, smiling down at him. “I've got pain killers in my bag, and some cream that will also help.” 

Jensen blushes again at that idea, his throat and chest turning pink. “Will you help me with the cream?” he asks demurely, but the sparkle in his eyes is anything but shy. Sam huffs a laugh. 

“Is that _all_ you want help with?” Sam can’t keep the heat out of his voice as he cups Jensen’s slowly hardening cock through his briefs. 

Jensen sighs, eyes slipping closed as he pushes his hips into Sam’s hand. His ears are endearingly pink when he looks up at Sam again, but Sam is still taken by surprise when he winds his arms around Sam’s neck and pulls him down to whisper in his ear. “I saw this video once…”

When Jensen lets Sam go, he’s flushed scarlet, his lips parted and his eyes wide as he looks up at him with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. He’s the perfect blend of innocent and wanton, his whispered request lighting Sam’s blood like rocket fuel. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Sam whispers roughly. “Get on the bed, Jensen.”

Jensen licks his lips, not taking his eyes off Sam as he backs up to the bed. He sits when his knees hit the comforter, then finally breaks eye contact to languidly rise onto his hands and knees, ass in the air waiting for Sam. He looks back over his shoulder, teeth sunk into his lower lip, eyes blown wide til Sam can barely see any color at all. He looks like a dream, like half the fantasies Sam has jerked off to in his life, and his mouth is already watering over what Jensen wants him to do. 

Sam strips quickly, t-shirt and jeans cast carelessly aside as he approaches the bed where Jensen is waiting for him. He kneels behind the boy, hands smoothing up his thighs to the firm muscle of his ass. Jensen’s trembling a little, his color still high when he looks over his shoulder at Sam, his head falling forward when Sam hooks his fingers into his briefs and drags them slowly over the cheeks of his ass, easing them over his cock where it’s pressed, dripping, against his belly. He slides Jensen’s briefs down his thighs to where his knees indent the comforter and leaves them there as his fingers trail back up to Jensen’s hips and press into the finger shaped bruises he’d left there the night before. 

Jensen shudders, whines deep in his throat as he pushes back against Sam’s hands, begging for more. Sam doesn’t give it to him, doesn’t get distracted from what Jensen asked him for, but he can’t resist rubbing his morning rough jaw over the tender skin of Jensen’s ass. He gives into the temptation to bite down, just hard enough to leave a fading imprint on the fair skin of Jensen’s thigh, and Jensen cries out, pained and eager. Sam feels him trembling, smells the precome that’s leaking steadily from his cock, and can’t wait any longer. He spreads Jensen open, nuzzling into the darkest part of him. 

Jensen still smells faintly of lube and come, and with the first swipe of his tongue over Jensen’s hole Sam can taste it as well. Jensen’s rim is red and puffy, still gaping slightly as Sam soothes over it gently with his tongue. Jensen moans, hands fisted in the sheets at even that light touch, and Sam smiles as he does it again. He digs in deeper, working his tongue inside, and Jensen can’t hold still. His hips buck against Sam’s face, pushing back as he begs for _more Sam please I need--_ and Sam gives it to him, pries him open with his thumbs to lick his soft, abused inner walls, sucks and nibbles the tender skin of his rim. He barely notices when Jensen sinks to the mattress, arms no longer able to hold him up, his voice cracking on Sam’s name over and over. 

Sam loses track of how long he fucks Jensen with his tongue, loosening and softening his opening. He gets a finger inside him as well, seeking out and finding his sweet spot and stroking over it again and again. Jensen writhes against him, desperate, gets a hand on his cock that Sam bats away. 

“No,” he growls softly, lifting his head just enough to be heard before burying his face against Jensen’s ass again, this time with two fingers stretching him wide. Jensen whines and reaches for himself again, and this time Sam’s hand lands with a hard smack against his ass. The sharp sting knocks Jensen momentarily speechless, gasping, and his hole flutters deliciously around Sam’s fingers and his tongue, his back arching in a tight, harsh line. Sam does it again on the other side just to feel that tight, hot clench again, bright red handprint blooming instantly against pale skin. Sam feels the shock of it shudder through Jensen as he comes, breathless and keening, his body locked tight around Sam’s fingers and tongue. 

Jensen sinks bonelessly toward the ruined comforter, Sam’s hold on his hips the only thing keeping him up. Sam wraps an arm around Jensen’s chest and hauls him back onto his lap, close enough to whisper. 

“You still with me, Jen?” he says softly, voice strained. His hips move restlessly, smearing sticky trails all over Jensen’s back. “You still want this?”

Jensen turns his head to kiss Sam, punchdrunk and giddy. “Want you,” he says, stretching his arms up to link his fingers behind Sam’s neck and grinding back against him. He rubs his soft cheek against Sam’s stubble like a cat, hissing a little at the burn as he nibbles at the corner of Sam’s mouth. Sam buries his face against Jensen’s neck, his hips stuttering over the dimples of Jensen’s ass, struggling for control. He swipes his hand through the cooling come on Jensen’s stomach, uses it to slick his himself. 

“You’ve got me,” Sam whispers, and holds Jensen steady as he slowly drags him down onto his cock. It’s different from the previous night, somehow more intimate, even though Sam can’t see Jensen’s face. But he can feel Jensen’s heart racing under his hand, feel his chest heave as he gasps for breath, hear every sigh and moan and whimper perfectly as Sam slowly fills him. Sam’s hand moves lower, spread across Jensen’s belly, and he can feel himself there, the slightest pressure pushing out against his fingers. He starts to move, tiny nudges of his hips, looking over Jensen’s shoulder to where he can see himself moving inside Jensen. Jensen moans, hands clenching in Sam’s hair as he rocks back, thighs quivering with the strain of his position. It’s amazing, Jensen’s body wrapped tight around him, lost in the smell and feel and sound of him as they move faster and faster. Sam shifts Jensen slightly, finds that hot, sparking place inside him, and kisses away the tiny begging noises that Jensen makes when the head of Sam’s cock skates over it again and again. It doesn’t take long before he’s hard again and aching to come. 

“Touch yourself,” Sam tells him, voice low and rough, and Jensen does, wraps his hand around the straining head of his dick and spreads the precome gathered there over his palm. “Good boy,” Sam praises him. “Look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Jensen shivers at Sam’s words and moves faster, fucking himself harder on Sam’s cock until he comes hot and messy over his own hand, the rippling clutch of his body dragging Sam with him over the edge. 

Jensen slumps a bit in Sam’s arms, wiped out. Sam eases him down onto the bed, slipping out of him carefully. Jensen makes a soft, hurt sound when Sam scoops up a thin rivulet of come leaking down Jensen’s thigh and pushes it back into his hole, letting his fingers slip in for just a moment. Sam soothes him gently, with more than a hint of guilt that he’d been too concerned with his own pleasure to wait until Jensen was less sore before fucking him again. Jensen seems to sense his turmoil, and turns Sam’s face toward him. “That was awesome,” he murmurs, smiling up at Sam with contented pleasure before a yawn swallows half his face. “I’m just gonna…” His eyes slip closed, and Sam wants to curl up and catnap with him, the novelty of sleeping with someone in his arms still a nearly irresistible temptation after so long. Instead he gets up carefully and brings a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom along with the ointment he’d mentioned earlier back to the bed. He cleans Jensen up then gently urges him to turn over and pushes one leg up the bed. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters under his breath, his cock trying valiantly to rouse at the sight. Jensen is so open, so ready, that it’s all Sam can do not to lick the taste of himself from the boy’s thighs and his swollen red hole. Instead he wipes Jensen clean and gets a healthy dollop of the pain relieving cream onto two of his fingers and carefully pushes them in. Jensen whines, sore and achy, and Sam flinches a little even as his cock twitches back to life. He adds more cream, making sure he coats Jensen’s rim and as far inside him as his fingers can reach before wiping his hand on the wash cloth and lying down next to Jensen. The boy curls into him with a sigh, lax and utterly beautiful. Sam’s own eyes are heavy, but he doesn’t sleep, just watches Jensen as he naps. 

Jensen doesn’t sleep long, maybe half an hour. When he wakes Sam brings him some tylenol and water, which he swallows gratefully. He winces a little with he moves, but he seems to be in less pain than he was before. Sam kisses him then gets in the shower, already thinking about what they’re going to do for the rest of the day.

When Sam gets done, Jensen has pulled on a pair of boxers and is grimacing at the stale danish on the table in front of him. “Last pair,” he says, taking another reluctant bite. “I guess we better find someplace to do laundry.” 

“We should,” Sam agrees. “And we should get you a few more pairs while we’re at it, maybe a few other things as well. Sound good?”

Jensen nods, returning the half eaten danish to the plate with an expression of disgust. “But we gotta get some real food, too. And some coffee.”

Sam smiles, ruffling Jensen’s dark hair the same way Dean used to do to him when he was a kid, his smile growing when Jensen swats his hand away in mock annoyance. “Go shower, we’ll grab some lunch when you’re done.”

They spend the rest of the day on mundane things. Lunch first, then laundry, then shopping...Sam feels Dean’s ghost everywhere they turn, and by the time they finish their errands he’s itching to dig into the research he’d put off last night. Jensen is still restless, though, and Sam finds himself agreeing on a trip to the movies theater. Jensen is excited about the new Star Trek movie that’s showing, and they bicker amiably over the merits of Star Trek vs Star Wars on the drive over. 

Once they’re inside, Sam has to admit the movie isn’t bad. They sit in the back, the way he and Dean have always done, and Jensen settles warm and solid against his side. It’s good, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t relax and enjoy himself. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly aware of how much time has passed, but now the nagging realization won’t leave him. He thinks he’s put on a pretty good front, discussing the movie with Jensen over dinner and doing everything he can to hide his anxiety, but Jensen is quiet on the way back to the motel. 

“Are you mad at me?” Jensen asks suddenly, picking at his jeans and not looking at Sam. 

Sam looks over at him in surprise. They’ve just pulled up to their room and Sam has his door half open already, eager to get inside and get to his laptop. “What?” he asks, feeling slow and stupid. “Why would I be angry at you, Jensen?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day, ever since we went out this afternoon.” Jensen still doesn’t look at him, makes no move to leave the car, so Sam swings the door shut again and lets his head fall back against the seat. 

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. He understands instinctively how frightening it is for the person you depend on to be angry at you, and he hates that he made Jensen feel that way. “I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m just feeling a little anxious about falling behind on my research, you know?” He slides across the seat to where Jensen is huddled against the door and pulls him into his arms. “But I know, now, that there are other things I need to do, too. I need to take care of you, and I need to take care of myself. I found out the hard way that when I don’t I’m no good to anyone.” 

Jensen sniffles, then gives Sam a shaky smile. “Okay. I just don’t want you to be mad that you had to spend so much money on me. _Or_ about your research.”

Sam hugs Jensen tighter, his heart aching for the lost, fearful note in Jensen’s voice. “Let’s get inside,” he says, his own voice unsteady. “And I’ll tell you a story that might make you feel a little better.” Jensen nods and untangles himself from Sam reluctantly. As soon as the motel door closes behind them Sam pulls the scared boy into his arms again, just holding him for a moment. Jensen relaxes against him with a sigh, already reassured, and follows Sam over to the chair they’d occupied that morning--seemingly a lifetime ago. 

“You know, I’m a kinda big for cuddling on your lap,” he protests mildly when Sam pulls him down. 

“But I’m going to tell you a story,” Sam points out, grinning up at him. “Once upon a time, in a state far, far away…”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Really? _Really >?_” Sam grins again, gleeful and secretly pleased that Jensen is feeling better. 

“Really,” Sam deadpans. “It’s my solemn duty to educate you on The Good Stuff.”

“Whatever. Tell me my story, bitch.” 

The world stops for a moment, then resumes its course, seemingly unaware that another piece of Sam’s heart has broken off and spun away. “Jerk,” he whispers and clears his throat before continuing.

“This is a story about an amazing young woman named Charlie, who helped me and Dean save the world. She’s very brave, and very smart. So smart that after she helped us save the world she used her embezzling skills--” Jensen makes a surprised sound but Sam shushes him. “--she used her embezzling skills to set up fake IDs and bank accounts and credit cards so that Dean and I don’t have to worry about money. For the most part. We can’t go out and buy every Impala we can find and store them for parts the way Dean would like to, but we’ve got enough to last us a good long while if we’re careful.” 

Jensen looks at him wide eyed. “Did you guys really save the world?”

“A few times, actually,” Sam says, his throat tightening with remembered grief. “It wasn’t easy. We lost some wonderful people doing it, but they died doing what they wanted to do. Saving people and hunting the things that hurt them. That time we lost the man who was like a father to me and Dean, who helped raise us. I still miss him.” Sam wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “So. I don’t want you to worry about money, or about being a distraction, okay? I prefer to keep Charlie’s money in reserve, but it’s there to be used to help people.”

Jensen looks like he has about a thousand questions, but he doesn’t ask. “Stealing is wrong,” he says tentatively, clearly worried about Sam’s reaction. 

Sam nods. “It is. Charlie takes money from big corporations that have unfair business practices or harm the environment, and she redistributes it to people and organizations that need it. It’s not right...but it’s not exactly wrong, either.”

“Like Robin Hood.” 

Sam smiles fondly. “I think Charlie would be very happy with that comparison.” He kisses Jensen quickly, then stands, lifting him into his arms. Jensen squeaks in surprise and wraps his arms around Sam’s neck, laughing. “I’ve got to get some work done. You good?” 

Jensen nods, stifling a yawn. “I’m just gonna listen to my ipod and maybe read for awhile,” he says, and giggles as Sam drops him onto the bed with a bounce. 

Satisfied, Sam gets out his laptop and boots it up. He checks his email and a few message boards, basic maintenance to keep his accounts active and make sure nothing urgent has been tossed his way, then opens up his journal, the notebook where he'd jotted down his thoughts and ideas over the last few months, all his progress on finding Dean.

It isn't much. 

Sam reads over the jumbled mess, trying to make sense of his own research. The primary conclusion he draws is that he'd been out of his mind with grief, alcohol and desperation, and that very little he'd done so far was going to be of much use. He's just about ready to give up and call it a night when a single word, underlined and bolded, catches his eye.

Lilith????

Sam remembers the spell he, Dean and Bobby had cast, years ago, to find where Lilith had gone to ground. He also remembers trying to cast it again, alone, with half a bottle of Jim Beam sloshing around in his stomach and wonders if he ought to try again. Try as he might, he can’t remember anything else about the now dead demon that could help him now. 

A little further down the page he'd scribbled REAPERS!!, and Sam wonders what he'd been thinking. He vaguely recalls returning to the town where Dean had nearly died years ago, but he doesn't remember why or what he did there. Sam closes the book with a frown, the feeling that he's missing something nagging at the back of his mind as he strips down for bed.

Jensen is curled up on his side, fast asleep. He's smiling slightly, Samantha clutched tight against his chest and his eyelashes casting soft thick shadows on his cheeks. Sam hesitates, torn between waking him and just taking the other bed. After a moment he climbs into the other bed, but not before he digs out his phone and snaps a picture to tease Jensen with in the morning and takes out his headphones. A soft sound drags Sam back from the edge of sleep, a moan that might be his name. He listens, tense and alert in the darkness, but Jensen doesn’t speak again and Sam decides he must have imagined it.

Sam doesn’t imagine the shout that wakes him a few hours later. It isn't loud, but the panic in Jensen's voice has Sam out of bed and by his side in moments. 

“Jensen,” Sam says, voice low and soothing, but Jensen doesn’t open his eyes. His hair is glued to his forehead in sweaty strands as he tosses and turns, hands clenched in the twisted sheets. 

“ _stop please stop_ ,” Jensen begs softly. He sounds terrified, and Sam takes one of his hands, trying to wake him. 

Jensen calms slightly, hand clenching tight around Sam's. His face is still flushed, locked tight in a frown that hurts Sam's heart, and he doesn't hesitate before gently prying Jensen's fingers loose from his hand and climbing into bed behind him.

As soon as Sam's arms wrap around him, Jensen falls still. His breathing evens out, taut muscles relaxing. 

“ _Sam_ ,” he sighs, tucking his head under Sam's chin, and as far as Sam knows neither of them wake again until morning.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he's being watched. Jensen doesn't smile this time when Sam opens his eyes, and Sam shakes off the joke about deja vu that immediately jumps to mind as he takes in the dark circles under Jensen’s eyes and the pallor of his skin.

“You were dreaming again,” he says instead, and Jensen shivers. “Dean used to have nightmares, too,” Sam adds softly, noting with surprise that Jensen flinches when Sam says Dean’s name. “Do you want to tell me what you saw?”

Jensen shakes his head mutely, and Sam feels the same frustrated helplessness that Dean’s stubbornness used to bring. 

“I just want to get cleaned up,” Jensen whispers. He untangles himself from the mess of blankets and sheets and ready to flee to the bathroom. Sam catches Jensen's hand as he rushes past and stands up, pulling Jensen tight against him. Jensen stiffens for a moment, then collapses against Sam, clutching him tightly. 

“Listen to me,” Sam says firmly. He tilts Jensen's face up, looking him in the eyes. “Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. They come with the territory when you do what we do, and sometimes they get pretty crazy.”

Jensen stares up at him, eyes shadowed and still afraid. “I saw Dean,” he admits reluctantly. “At least I think I did. He looked like me, but older. He was covered with blood, and there was another man fighting next to him.” Jensen’s voice falters. “He--he was blonde, and he had long teeth--fangs, I guess, like a vampire. But not like a vampire from a movie. His whole mouth was full of them and he was hissing. The person they were fighting had tons of teeth too, and his mouth opened crazy wide and then they cut his head off.” 

Sam frowns at Jensen’s descriptions but doesn't let go of the frightened boy. “That sounds pretty scary. Was Dean hurt?” 

Jensen shakes his head. “No. He had this weird stone axe thing and it hurt the monster they were fighting a lot. Then the vampire thing cut it’s head off and there was black goop everywhere.” 

Sam kisses the top of Jensen’s head. “I’m sorry you were scared,” he says gently. “But it was just a dream. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll get us packed up so we can head out, okay?”

Jensen clings to him for another moment, face buried in Sam’s shoulder. “Okay,” he says, voice muffled, then sighs and heads to the tiny bathroom. Sam watches him go, troubled by his accurate description of both a leviathan and a vampire and wondering if lying to Jensen had been the right choice. It felt like the _only_ choice in the moment, given that Sam had absolutely no answers or ideas to offer on why or how Jensen was dreaming about monsters that Sam and Dean had fought in the past. 

Sam packs up quickly and efficiently while Jensen showers, leaving out a change of clothes for each of them. He boots up his laptop for a quick review of an old case he and Dean had worked in Nebraska years ago, wheels turning slowly in his mind. Dean had nearly died there--would have died, except a woman, the wife of a faith healer, had used a spell to bind a reaper to her will. The creature had spared those the woman deemed worthy and murdered those she saw as sinners. Sam and Dean had both tried to forget about the case and how Dean had been saved, but Sam needed those details now. He reads through the things the woman--her name was SuEllen, he remembers now--had done, terrible things that Sam remembers secretly sympathizing with at the time. What wouldn't he do to save Dean? The question troubles him now as much as it did then. In the end, SuEllen’s evil had caught up to her, the freed reaper exacting his revenge coldly and cruelly before disappearing into the night. The creature had ignored him and Dean, but Sam had no idea why--was it grateful to them for freeing it? Had it been forbidden to take them? What might it have done to Roy, SuEllen’s husband, had he been there?

Sam stares at the screen, thoughts churning. It seems clear that at one point he’d considered summoning a reaper to help him find Dean, but now, without more information, he can't risk it. Not as long as Jensen is with him and needs his protection. Sam closes his laptop in frustration. There has to be a way, and he’s not going to stop until he finds it.


	15. Chapter 15

 

Jensen’s quiet when they get in the car. Sam puts in a tape fill the silence, one that Jensen has played a few times, willing to give Jensen time to think about his dreams and what’s coming up next. 

Sam’s mind circles back to the idea of reapers. He remembers now why he’d never followed up on the idea--reapers escort the dead to heaven or hell, and Sam has never stopped believing that Dean is alive. One of the first things he’d done, once he’d pulled himself together enough to be trusted out of Jody’s house, was visit a medium, one with a solid reputation in the hunting community. He’d assured Sam that his belief was justified, that Dean’s soul was not in either heaven or hell. They’d tried three times before Sam was finally satisfied that he wasn’t fooling himself. He’d talked to a psychic as well, who had assured Sam that his brother’s soul was still on Earth. Maybe it was just desperation, but Sam believed, _has_ to believe, that Dean is still here. He's not giving up, especially now that he's found a new clarity of purpose. He wonders if Missouri will help him recast the location spell he'd tried before. Surely with her help they'd be able to find Dean, or at least get a general location. Hope settles in his chest, both warm and terrifying.

The last song on the tape dies out with a final wail of guitar, leaving the car suddenly silent. Sam remembers, a little guiltily, that he’s supposed to be feeding Jensen more regularly and they’d skipped breakfast again this morning. Sam has never minded skipping meals, has often gone a full day or more without eating when he’s on his own, but he doesn’t think Jensen feels the same way. He glances over at Jensen with a tentative smile, pleased to see that he has a little more color in his face and is looking far more cheerful than he had when they’d left the motel. _Breakfast it is,_ Sam decides. 

“So…” Sam starts, at the same time Jensen says, “Hey, Sam?”

They both freeze. “Go on,” Sam tries to say, just as Jensen starts to say “Go ahead.” 

Sam can’t help grinning a little, and when Jensen sees his smile he can’t help giggling. 

“We--”

“You--”

This time they both start laughing. Sam mimes zipping his lips shut, motioning to Jensen to go ahead. Jensen’s smile fades a little and he fidgets with a hole that’s starting in the knee of his jeans. 

“I just wanted to say...Thanks for last night. I’ve never had dreams like that, ever. Having you there made me feel a lot better.”

Sam smiles at Jensen and reaches over to give his hand a squeeze. 

“It’s no problem. Like I said, it kind of goes with the territory. And I wanted to do it, I wanted to help.” Sam pauses for a moment, then continues cautiously. “If you want to talk about it more, we can, okay? I don’t mind.” 

Jensen shakes his head, his face going a little pale. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “Maybe...you could tell me more about Dean? Maybe some of the people you saved. I’d like to hear about that.”

Sam gives him a surprised look. “Well...I do have some stories, that's for sure. But a lot of them are pretty dark.”

“I'd be dead if you hadn't found me, wouldn't I?” Jensen says quietly. He sounds morbidly fascinated by the possibility. 

“Probably,” Sam says reluctantly. “Dean and I rarely stumble across a case before someone dies. Often more than one person. It sucks, but that's usually how we know we're needed. Doesn't make it any easier, but one of the first things we have to accept is that we can't save everyone.”

Jensen gives him a skeptical look. “Is that really something you're okay with?” he asks. 

“No,” Sam says simply. “I remember every person we've lost. So does Dean. They're the reason we keep doing this.”

Jensen falls quiet for a few minutes, staring out the window.

“Why were you in Texas?” he asks after a moment. “Why Richardson? Was there a case there?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, not this time. I was just...driving. Dean and I were there five or six years ago, and I guess I just headed somewhere familiar. Just coincidence, really.”

“You and Dean had a case in Richardson?” Jensen asks. He sounds a little apprehensive. “Did...did someone die?” 

“Are you sure you want to hear about this, Jensen? It might involve people you know, people you went to school or church with.” Sam glances over at Jensen, who is watching him with a fixed, determined look.

“I want to know,” Jensen says, voice low and certain. “If something happened where I live….” He shakes his head. “How could we all miss something like that?”

Sam shrugs a little. “A lot of times the things that happen seem like accidents, or just terrible but explainable tragedies. And no one would ever expect the culprit to be a ghost or a tulpa.” He gives Jensen a crooked smile. “That’s just crazy talk, right?”

Jensen laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess so. Is that what was in Richardson? A tulpa? What _is_ a tulpa?”

“A tulpa is a thought form,” Sam explains. “It’s a creature that’s brought to life by the power of belief and it changes as people’s beliefs about it change. The case in Richardson was sad and frustrating because the biggest reason people died was pure human stupidity.

“Dean and I first went to Richardson because we heard a rumor that a young woman--a college student--had been killed in a supposedly haunted house. According to a website that later turned out to be fake, the legend was that a man from the 1930s had murdered his daughters there to keep them from starving to death. Dean and I didn’t know why he’d suddenly started killing people again, but we decided to check it out anyway. It happens sometimes--an old graveyard is disturbed, a house is sold and a spirit gets angry and vengeful. We’ve seen a lot of cases like that, enough to make the trip worthwhile. 

“When we got to town, we did some asking around and eventually worked out that a couple of kids had decided to play a prank on their friends. They painted ‘occult’ symbols on the walls, then staged the girl being hung. She wasn’t really dead, just wearing makeup, but the kids they dragged to the house were fooled. 

“That would have been the end of it, except that the kids had painted an actual occult symbol on one wall, a powerful one. It’s used by Tibetan monks and other mystics to bring to life tulpas, creatures born from the power of belief. They can be changed by the power of belief, too, which makes them very hard to kill. 

“The website that ran the fake story, which was created by two men who dabbled in the occult but had very little actual knowledge, had a picture of the symbol on their site, and the belief of the thousands of fans who visited daily caused a horrible, vindictive monster to come into being. Dean and I tried to get them to post information that would make it possible for us to kill the creature, but they weren’t able to. In the end, two more young women died before we finally burned the house down so that no one else could go in.”

“I remember that,” Jensen whispers. He looks shocked. “My brother went to school with one of the girls who died. And it was all because of a prank? That’s awful.”

Sam nods. “It was. Playing around with things you don’t understand can be incredibly dangerous. We’re just glad that we were able to destroy the house so that no one else could enter and be harmed.”

“Wait,” Jensen says slowly. “I remember that the police were looking for two men for questioning. Was that you and Dean?”

Sam chuckles, smirking just a little. “No, that was probably Ed and Harry, the two men who ran the fake ‘paranormal investigators’ website. Dean and I may have arranged for the police to keep them busy for a little while so that we could take care of the problem. They were doing more harm than good, and Dean and I were worried they might get seriously hurt if they kept going back to the house.”

“Sounds like you did them a favor. Did you ever think about just letting them get what was coming to them? I mean, it sounds like they had a hand in causing all this trouble.” 

Sam shakes his head. “No. They weren’t trying to hurt anyone, they were just...well...stupid.” He grins. “Besides, Dean came up with a much better way to get back at them. He put a dead fish in the backseat of their car right before they left for California.”

Jensen throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that’s perfect,” he says, grinning. “Kudos to Dean for coming up with that one.”

“I’d never, ever tell him this, but the truth is, Dean has come up with some brilliant pranks over the years.” Sam laughs, remembering. “He put Nair in my shampoo once….If he weren’t my brother I’d have killed him over that one, I swear.”

The car goes abruptly silent. Sam glances over at Jensen curiously, and his shocked expression hits Sam like a fist to the gut as he realizes what he’d said. 

“Your brother?” Jensen says, confused. “I thought...You told me Dean was your boyfriend.” The color drains from his face. 

“I thought it was just some weird dream thing,” Jensen says slowly. “Dean kept talking about you and the vampire said _when we finally get topside I'll know more about your little brother than he does._ ”

Sam curses his stupidity. He hadn't even thought about how he was going to tell Jensen the truth, too caught up in the rush of emotions he and Jensen were feeling and the growing hope that he might finally be able to find Dean. 

“I'm sorry, Jensen,” Sam says quietly. “I should have told you from the start. Dean is my older brother, and we’ve been together since I was thirteen.” Sam risks a glance at Jensen. He looks shocked, devastated. 

“I don’t understand,” Jensen whispers. “How--Why would you do that? How could he do that to you?”

“I know it’s hard to understand, Jensen,” Sam says helplessly. “But please believe me, we both wanted everything that happened between us. Very much so.”

“Pull over,” Jensen says raggedly. “Pull over, please--” 

Luckily the stretch of road they’re traveling is relatively deserted. Sam pulls off the road and Jensen claws the door open, falling to his knees as he retches into the grass. Sam doesn’t move, hands clenched on the steering wheel, his head spinning with the enormity of this fuck up. After a moment he gets out and goes to the trunk for a bottle of cool water for Jensen. He hesitates a long moment before accepting it, flinching when Sam offers him a hand up. Sam backs away, letting Jensen move at his own pace, and the boy sits back on his heels then leans heavily against the side of the car. 

“Were you going to tell me?” Jensen asks, voice rough and hoarse. 

Sam drops down beside him, careful to keep some distance between them. “Yes. I--it’s not an easy thing to tell. I’m not ashamed of what Dean and I are to each other,” he adds when Jensen scoffs. “But I know how people think about things like that.” Sam goes quiet for a few moments before he continues. 

“I’ve never told anyone else. There’s only ever been one other person I might have told, and...it just wasn't something that I felt I needed to share with her. I've been so...caught up….in what's between us that I didn't think about anything else.”

A tear slides down Jensen’s cheek. “I can’t deal with this right now, Sam. I can’t.”

“I know,” Sam says helplessly. “I know. I hate to add this to everything you’re going through.” Sam runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know how to make this right for you.”

A strangled laugh escapes Jensen’s throat, more like a sob. “Make it right? There’s no making this right, Sam. I feel...I feel dirty. I feel disgusting. I don’t even want to look at you.” He scrubs at his mouth with his hands. “But I still want you to put your arms around me and kiss me and tell me everything is okay, too. I still want to laugh with you and make you happy.” He shudders. “What’s _wrong_ with me?”

Sam closes his eyes. “Whatever you want, Jensen. All I ask is that you let me help you protect yourself before you decide to do anything. Please.” 

“Not like I have much choice,” Jensen says bitterly. “Let’s just go and get this over with.” 

“I’ll call Jody when we get to the motel tonight,” Sam promises, not letting the despair settling in the pit of his stomach color his voice. “She’ll have somewhere for you to go as soon as we finish your tattoo. But we still need to see Missouri. Part of protecting you is finding out what’s between us. I’m sorry it can’t be sooner.”

“Whatever.” Jensen hauls himself up wearily and falls back onto the leather seat, slamming the door hard enough to shake the frame. Sam walks slowly back around to the other side and collapses behind the wheel, staring through the windshield for a long moment before he puts the car in gear and starts them off on the final leg of their journey.


	16. Chapter 16

The trip to Lawrence is as long and painful as Sam dreaded it would be. Jensen sits pressed against the door, either staring out the window or with his eyes closed. More than once Sam thinks he sees tears, but he doesn't say anything. He wants, more than anything, to reach out and console Jensen but he knows nothing he says will be welcome. It’s after dark when they reach Lawrence, so Sam finds a hotel where they can stay the night before driving over to see Missouri the next morning. 

When they pull up, Sam finally breaks the silence. “Do you want me to get two rooms tonight?” he asks Jensen quietly, but Jensen is already shaking his head before Sam even finishes. 

“No,” Jensen whispers, his voice rough from hours of disuse. “I want to stay with you.”

 _I feel safe with you,_ Sam hears Jensen whisper in his mind, and he’s not going to take that away from him.

Sam nods stiffly. “I’ll be right back. Just wait here, okay?”

Signing them into the room takes minutes. When Sam gets back to the car, Jensen hasn’t moved, still staring fixedly out the window. He gets out when Sam opens the trunk, grabs his backpack without speaking and waits by the door Sam nods to. The easy rhythm they’d begun to fall into is all but gone as Jensen goes out of his way to avoid touching Sam at all, and Sam does his best to help.

Jensen orders dinner, pizza this time, and watches while Sam lays down salt lines across the door and windows. 

“Does that really work?” Jensen asks abruptly, and Sam startles a bit. “The salt,” Jensen clarifies. 

Sam nods. “Salt is a purifier. It will keep out ghosts, demons, vengeful spirits...even hell hounds. The line can’t be broken though.” He smiles humorlessly. “We go through a lot of salt.”

“Is there a less messy way to do it? That’s got to be noticeable….out there.” 

“Not if you want to be safe,” Sam says, straightening up. “There comes a point when you have to decide which kind of safety you want, theirs or ours.”

Jensen nods sharply, lips pressed tightly together. He doesn’t say anything else, just falls back on the bed to stare at the ceiling until the pizza arrives. 

While they wait, Sam steps outside to call Jody. 

“Sam?”

“Hey, Jody. Sorry to call so late, I just...I needed to update you on what’s going on with Jensen.”

Jody doesn’t answer for awhile, but when she does the sympathy in her voice is almost too much. “I understand, Sam. It can’t be easy trying to take care of a boy who looks so much like Dean. I’ve put out some feelers...how soon do you need somewhere?”

Sam clears his throat roughly, forces the words out. “As soon as possible, Jody. He’s...he’s ready to find somewhere else to be.”

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Jody says quietly. “If you need someone to talk to about...everything. Just give me a call.”

“I will, Jody. And thank you. For everything. This really means a lot to both of us.”

The pizza arrives not long after Sam comes back inside. Jensen turns on the TV and they watch in silence, both of them picking at their food more than eating. It’s far too reminiscent of the bad times with Dean, of Ruby and Lilith and their grandfather, still fresh in his mind. It’s even worse when Jensen declares himself ready for bed. Everything in Sam wants to pull Jensen close and keep him safe, dreamless, but he won’t. Not unless Jensen asks. 

He doesn’t. 

“I'm here if you need me,”Sam says quietly to the ceiling. Jensen doesn’t answer, and his breathing doesn’t even out before Sam falls asleep. 

Sam wakes up to a warm weight settling next to him in the bed. He doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms and pulls Jensen close. Jensen relaxes against him with a shaky sigh, and Sam strokes Jensen’s sweat-damp hair until he stops trembling and falls asleep again. Sam stays awake the rest of the night, unwilling to give up what little time he has left with Jensen for sleep.

They both look like death warmed over the next morning, Jensen pale and drawn as he pulls abruptly away from Sam without meeting his eyes and stumbles to the bathroom. His newly dark hair emphasizes his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes, and the thought comes to Sam unbidden that Jensen looks more like Dean than ever. His eyes flick downward, half expecting to see the familiar glint of gold against his chest, but of course there’s nothing there. Sam gives himself a mental shake, and tries to prepare himself for the onslaught of memories that being in Lawrence always brings. 

After they clean up Sam drives them to the same diner he and Dean had eaten at when they were last here. The sting of remembrance feels sharper than usual but Sam does his best to ignore it as he pushes the food on his plate around. He welcomes the familiar ache of hunger, the deep satisfaction that comes from knowing that this, at least, is pain that he can control. Jensen eats enough for both of them, washing eggs, bacon and pancakes down with cup after cup of coffee, much to Sam’s private amusement. He tries not to let his fondness show on his face, but he must give himself away because Jensen mock-scowls at him, clutching his fourth cup in both hands. 

“I’ve missed it, okay?” Jensen inhales deeply, eyes closed in bliss while Sam watches with a smile, grateful for even this small reprieve.

“Dean loves his coffee, too,” Sam says, smile widening slightly. He nods to the sugar and cream packets scattered around Jensen’s cup. “He takes his black, though. Always makes fun of me for my _frou-frou_ drinks.” 

Jensen pulls a face. “Yuck. I’ll stick with my cream and sugar, thanks.” 

It feels like a truce, almost. The palpable tension relaxes a little, nothing like the ease they’d had before but Sam’s chest feels a little lighter and he thinks Jensen can feel it too. Still, he’s surprised when Jensen puts his coffee down and clears his throat nervously. 

“Will you tell me about him? And about you? What it was like growing up, I mean.” Jensen pushes the empty packets around aimlessly, two spots of color burning in his cheeks. “I just need to understand. How it could happen.”

Sam stares at his hands, overwhelmed and unsure where to start, other than at the beginning. 

“That’s a long story,” Sam says finally. “And I’m not sure I can tell it in a way that will make it easier for you to understand or accept. But I’ll try.” Jensen nods, still staring at his coffee cup. He stiffens a little when Sam reaches over to touch his hand, but doesn’t move away, and Sam feels that familiar pull toward him again. Jensen looks up at the touch, and Sam smiles. “Thank you for giving me the chance to talk about him.” 

“Dean is my big brother,” Sam starts off. “He was four when I was born, and Dad always said he was in love with me even before I got here. He couldn’t wait to have a little brother--he was convinced he’d have a brother, right from the start--and he insisted on calling me Sammy. Luckily, that was a name my parents liked, since my mom’s father had been named Samuel. They were happy, relieved, that he took the news so well and that he was so excited to meet me.

“I was born without complications, and Dean couldn’t wait to help take care of me. He insisted on helping my mom feed me and change my diapers and let him practice holding me, and I was always happiest when I was with him. He kissed me good night every night for the first six months of my life.”

“That’s when everything changed. There was a fire in my nursery, caused by a demon. My mother was killed. Dean, my father and I barely made it out alive. Dad put me in Dean’s arms and told him to take me outside. At four years old, he was already saving my life.”

Jensen listens with wide eyes. “A demon? It attacked you?”

Sam shakes his head. “Not exactly. It...well, it wanted something from me, and when my mom got in the way it killed her and set the house on fire. We didn’t know for a long, long time that it was a demon. We were like you, a month ago--just a happy family with no idea of what was really out there. But my dad saw things that night, impossible things, and it sent him down a path of hate and revenge that eventually consumed all our lives. No one believed him that the fire was out of the ordinary, so he began to seek out people who _would_ believe him. One of the first was Missouri, the woman we’re going to see in a little while.” 

“What happened next? Did you find the demon that killed your mom?” 

“Not for a long, long time,” Sam repeats. He watches his own fingers shred the dirty napkin on the table in front of him as though they belong to someone else. “From the moment my dad found out about the supernatural, we lived on the road. The Impala--” Sam nods at the sleek black car visible through the diner’s plate glass window--”she was our only home. We rarely stayed anywhere for more than a few weeks as our dad hunted down and killed evil monsters and looked for information on what had killed our mom. He was drunk most of the time, so Dean took care of me. My first word was his name. My first steps were walking toward him. Neither of us could sleep at night unless we were in the same bed--”

“Wait, I thought you said Dean was only four when your mom died,” Jensen said with a frown. “That’s not old enough to take care of a baby.” 

“You’re right, it’s not,” Sam agrees. “But he did it anyway, and what he couldn’t do he made my dad do. If he hadn’t I’m not sure what would have happened to me. To either of us. I didn’t find most of this out until much later, of course. But Dean stopped talking at all, to everyone except me. He would sing to me under his breath and whisper stories to me, and hold me at night when we couldn’t sleep.” 

“And your dad just let him?” Jensen sounds skeptical, and Sam doesn’t blame him. It’s not a pretty story, and Sam hasn’t even really started yet. Sam just shrugs. 

“Dad wasn’t in any shape to take care of me on his own--he was half crazy with grief and anger. I saw what he was like when he was drunk growing up, and I’m sure he didn’t make it easy on Dean. But I’m here, so they must have managed. 

“When Dean was around six or so, he finally started talking again so my dad let him start school. That’s also when my dad started training him. Teaching him to shoot, teaching him Latin, teaching him to fight with his hands and with a knife. By the time he was seven he could field strip a gun faster than most adults and knew basic first aid so that he could help our dad if he got hurt on a hunt. One of my earliest memories is of Dean stitching up my dad’s arm while he took slugs out of a whisky bottle to dull the pain.” 

“That’s...that’s not right,” Jensen whispers. He looks sick. “Little kids shouldn’t have to do that kind of stuff.” 

“Dean didn’t have a choice,” Sam says with another shrug. He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “But even if he had had a choice, Dean adored our dad. Thought he was a hero. And by the time he was a teenager he was just as set on getting revenge as our dad was. It consumed them both, day and night, no matter where we were. The only thing that could distract dad was a hunt, killing something.” Sam pauses, smiling. “But Dean always had time for me. He always made sure I had everything I needed, no matter what it cost him. I didn’t realize until I was much older how hard he tried to keep me safe and protected, how much he gave up so that I had everything I needed.” Sam coughs a little, wipes at his eyes. 

“He made sure I always had enough to eat, no matter what, even if it meant he went hungry or had to...work. He kept us both out of the system, made sure I had a safe place to do my homework. He was always at my soccer games and school plays. When our dad left us alone for days or weeks at a time, he did his best to keep me from being afraid. When there was no one else I could trust, he made sure I knew I could always turn to him.

“He made sure I had no idea that ghosts and monsters and demons even existed until I was nine years old, and even then I only found out because I stole my dad’s journal to read because I had to know why our lives were so screwed up. He begged me to leave it alone, to let it go, but I couldn’t help asking questions. He could never tell me no. He gave me everything, and one day...I asked for more.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything for a long time, just absorbing everything Sam told him. “You only had each other,” he says finally, a piece of Sam’s story that he can understand. “Your mom was dead, your dad was always gone, you moved all the time.” He looks up at Sam. “Why didn’t you run away? Wasn’t there anyone else you could go live with?” 

Sam shakes his head. “Our mom’s family died before Dean was born. I don’t know what happened to Dad’s family, but they weren’t around. And our Dad...he thought something was after us, I think. He insisted we had to be ready. He trained us like soldiers--top physical condition, experts with weapons and hand to hand combat, tactical analysis. It was terrifying, and he made us believe that he was the only one who could keep us safe. And he raised us to believe that helping people, saving people, was our job. It was the most important thing in the world, other than finding the thing that killed our mom.”

“More important than taking care of his kids? More important than keeping you safe?” Jensen’s voice rises, angry and loud, and Sam shushes him gently.

“I don’t think he ever meant for it to go that far. He was grieving and in shock when he started, and after awhile the things he did became second nature. Treating us like soldiers was easier than facing up to what he’d already done.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Jensen says fiercely, and Sam smiles at him, dazzled by his passion. 

“No, it doesn’t. Abuse is still abuse, no matter how well meaning it is. But he’s gone, now. Holding onto my anger only hurts me, and Dean.”

“Did he know?” Jensen blushes. “About you and Dean.” 

Sam shakes his head emphatically. “No. Never. He would have killed us, I think. Dean at least, since he was older. Even if he regretted it later, his first instinct was always to violence. But Dean and I...we needed each other like air at that point. We needed to touch, to love, to be together in every way. I don’t know for sure what it was like for Dean, but for me it was a constant need, almost a hunger to be around him, to touch him...and when I was old enough, it became almost unbearable desire. We didn’t know, yet, that what we felt was our souls reaching for each other, but we knew instinctively that we needed to be together. And when we finally were...there was no doubt for either of us that it was right, no matter what the rest of the world might think.” 

“What was it like?” Jensen asks softly, flushing even more deeply. “Being together, being with him. Did he--”

“I think that’s enough for now,” Sam says abruptly, signalling the waitress for the check. “We should probably head over to Missouri’s house and...take care of everything. I just don’t think I can talk about it anymore right now.”

Jensen looks contrite. “Sorry,” he mutters, staring down at his hands again. “I just...I just want to understand.”

Sam presses his lips together against the words that want to come out, holding back the anger and guilt and grief that aren’t really Jensen’s fault, nods stiffly. Jensen looks like he wants to say more, but Sam signals for the waitress again and they both fall into silence. 

 

Once Jensen finishes his last cup of coffee Sam pays the bill and they drive down familiar streets to Missouri’s home. Jensen huddles silently against his door, face blank and shuttered, and Sam tries not to think about what’s coming next.

The Impala glides to a stop in the driveway, but Sam doesn’t move from behind the wheel. After a moment, the front door opens and a woman steps out onto the porch, peering at them.

“Sam Winchester!” she hollers after a moment. “Get your butt outta that car so I can get a look at you!”

Jensen looks over at him with raised eyebrows and Sam shrugs, grinning. 

“I told you--psychic.” 

A minute later, the woman--older, plump, with short, dark hair--is standing next to the car, waiting impatiently for Sam to step out. As soon as he does she wraps him in a tight hug before pushing him back for a better look. 

“Boy, you look like you been through the wringer,” she tsks, smiling up at him. “Now how about you introduce me to your friend?” 

Sam motions Jensen over, and Missouri’s eyes go wide, darting back and forth between them. “Oh,” she breathes. She makes no move to touch Jensen, even when he holds out his hand. Jensen flushes with embarrassment at the rejection and lets his hand drop. He looks to Sam, but Sam doesn’t offer an explanation, only an introduction.

“Missouri, this is Jensen. We need your help.”

Missouri gives Sam a long look. “Well. You boys better come inside. I’d like to get better acquainted with your….friend.” She mock glares at Sam before leading the way inside. “And next time, you call me first. I didn’t find out until last night that you were coming to visit and I had to send some customers packing.”

Sam has the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Missouri, really, but it seemed better this way. Things are...kind of weird, right now. And...you know about Dean.”

“Oh, honey, I do know. And I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice softening. She looks over at Jensen again, her brow furrowing. “I don’t imagine this is easy on either of you.” She shoos them both over to the couch before disappearing into the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea for all of them when she comes back out. 

“Now. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here, starting with why you’re carting around someone who looks just like your brother?” 

Jensen flinches slightly at the word brother and Missouri’s eyes narrow, a look that’s very familiar to Sam from years gone by. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at Sam inquiringly, who can’t help squirming just a little.

“Well...I...uh. I ran into Jensen. Literally. Almost. And he needed help, he was being haunted by his grandfather,” Sam stammers, Missouri’s steely eyed stare making him sweat despite fan turning lazily overhead. “And he can’t go back home because his family situation was pretty bad. And. Um. There’s this thing. Between us. Some kind of...attraction. Both of us. And Jensen is going to live with Jody, so I want to make sure there’s nothing dangerous about it.” 

Sam trails off into desperate silence, doing his best to pretend he doesn’t see Jensen’s stricken expression.

“Well, that was clear as mud,” Missouri says after a moment, giving Sam an exasperated look. She holds out her hand to Jensen. “And don’t think I can’t tell you aren’t giving me the whole story. I assume you did all the tests for a shapeshifter, Sam, so I’ll just see if there’s any kind of spellwork attached to either of you.”

Jensen speaks up for the first time. “Tests? What kind of tests?” He looks over at Sam, his voice thin and a little scared. “What did you do to me?”

“Do you remember the coin I tossed you that first night?” Sam asks. His hand twitches a little on his thigh, instinct telling Sam to reach out for Jensen and reassure him, but the previous day’s memories hold him in place. “It was pure silver. Shapeshifters can’t stand the touch of it--I would have been able to tell if it hurt you. Later I gave you holy water to wash down your painkillers, and the next day you didn’t respond when I said ‘Christos’. So I'm reasonably sure you aren't a demon or a shapeshifter.”

Jensen looks slightly relieved, if still a little spooked, and Missouri nods approvingly. “I’d like to hold your hand, Jensen,” she says gently. “This sort of thing works better if I’m touching you.” 

Jensen puts his hand hesitantly in hers and Missouri closes her eyes. He inhales sharply, eyes going wide and shocked as he looks at Sam in fear. Sam knows from experience that Missouri’s probes aren’t painful, just uncomfortable, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to reach out again. He starts to reassure Jensen, but Missouri’s eyes snap open and she drops Jensen’s hand like it burns.

“Samuel Winchester, what did you do?” she whispers, shocked and angry. “ _What did you do?_ ”

“I--” 

“It was my idea, I wanted him to,” Jensen interrupts. His voice is choked and his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. “I started everything, don't be mad at him--” Jensen cuts himself off abruptly, swallowing whatever else he was going to say.

Missouri huffs impatiently. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she snaps. “Though I imagine your brother might have some choice words for you, Sam.” Her eyes narrow again, dangerously. 

“But what I want to know _right now_ is why there’s a piece of your brother’s soul stuck in this poor boy’s body.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Sorry for missing a week. We're getting close to the end now, and I've been mulling over the last few chapters. The conclusion I've come to is that they're very rushed, and I kinda want Jensen and Sam to have a little more time together. I can do that without changing the story too much, but since this has always been advertised as a finished story, I'm reluctant to add in possible delays. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Stunned silence falls over the room as Missouri glares at Sam, silently demanding an explanation.

Sam can’t answer, can barely think. If Jensen has a piece of Dean’s soul--nevermind how, they’ll figure that out later--then everything Sam believed was wrong. The mediums and psychics he’d consulted, his gut feeling that Dean was still alive somewhere...all wrong if even a part of Dean’s soul was still here in someone else. He's aware of Missouri talking to him but the words can't make it past the ringing in his ears. The room tilts, blurry and washed out, the same agonizing despair he'd felt when Crowley smugly told him _you're on your own now, Moose_ crushing his chest and stealing his breath as the fragile, tentative hope he'd gathered falls apart right in front of him. Pinpoints of light flash and sparkle at the edges of his vision, and then Jensen takes his hand, grounding him. The tightness in his chest eases, just enough to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. Jensen doesn't speak but Missouri pulls the story out of him in bits and pieces--the hope he'd clung to all these months, fed by psychics who swore that Dean's soul was still here on earth and mediums who couldn’t find him in the afterlife either.

It doesn't take long. He feels empty when he's done, hollowed out and dry. Missouri is watches him--watches _them_ \--thoughtfully. Sam wipes away the moisture in his eyes and clears his throat. He’s immeasurably grateful when Jensen doesn’t pull away from him, a long line of warmth and comfort pressed to Sam’s side. 

“I don’t understand any of this, Missouri. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible, let alone how to do it.” Sam can tell she doesn't entirely believe him, feels her mind brush the edges of the barriers he’s spent years learning to maintain. 

“Well, someone did,” Missouri says with asperity. “Who else would even want to do such a thing?”

Sam shakes his head slowly, honest bewilderment on his face. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I just don’t know.”

“What does this mean?” Jensen asks, sounding frightened again. “What do you mean I have someone else’s soul?” 

Missouri tries to smile at him, but she can’t entirely hide her horror at what has happened to him. “Someone--we don’t know who--took a piece of Dean’s soul and grafted it onto yours--sort of sewed them together. It seems like Dean’s soul has been growing pretty steadily--rebuilding itself, so to speak...and I think that being so near to Sam has probably made it grow even faster.” She leans forward, takes Jensen’s hand again. “For something like that to take, your soul must have been very weak. Was there a time when you were sick? Injured?”

Jensen shivers and grips Sam’s hand more tightly. “When I was younger,” he says hesitantly. “When I was eleven. I was really sick and my mom said I almost died. The doctors had pretty much given up, and then I just started getting better. Everyone said it was a miracle.” 

Missouri nods thoughtfully. “That’s probably when it happened,” she says, turning to Sam. Her eyes are sympathetic now. “That’s right around the time the hellhounds came for Dean, wasn’t it Sam?”

“What are you suggesting?” Sam whispers, looking sick. “You think I found a piece of Dean’s soul that was _ripped off by a hellhound_ and….and somehow put it inside a dying little boy? Why would I do something like that?”

“No,” Missouri says softly. “No, I don’t think that’s what _you_ did. But it seems to me that it’s what _someone_ did. There’s not much other explanation. As for why,” she continues thoughtfully,”I can think of a few reasons. Losing part of his soul would weaken Dean, and that in turn weakened you. A few of us have pieced together a pretty good picture of what happened back then, and I can think of a few beings, angelic and demonic, who would have liked to see that happen. And...” she hesitates, taking in Sam’s stunned expression with sympathy. “And, from what I’ve gathered, Dean was never a sure thing to be Michael’s host. Jensen might have been intended as a sort of back up.” 

Jensen looks back and forth between them, eyes wide and glassy. “I don’t understand,” he says again, under his breath, then turns to Sam with a hurt expression. “Is this why?” he asks. “Is this why we--we--” Jensen can’t finish the question, but Sam has no trouble understanding what he means. 

“I think it’s probably part of it,” Sam tells him as gently as he can. His heart aches for both of them but he doesn’t quite dare to wipe away the tears threatening to spill over onto Jensen’s cheeks--not now, with the truth out in the open. “But that’s not all of it. You’re a great kid, Jensen. You’re smart, funny, brave--incredibly brave. And determined. So many people, even adults, would have broken under what you went through. You have a good heart, and I’m glad we met for all those reasons and more.”

Missouri watches them for a moment, considering, then pats Sam’s knee briskly. 

“Sam, I’m sure you have some things to think about for now. And I need to have a talk with Jensen. Why don’t you come back and get him in a day or two?”

Sam’s head jerks up. “What? No. I need--”

“You need to give this boy some time to think about what’s going on here,” Missouri interrupts firmly. “And he and I need to talk about a few things that are troubling him.”

Jensen speaks up timidly. “Miss Missouri...I don’t think that's a good idea. I’ve been having pretty bad dreams and I don’t want to upset you. The only time I don’t is when I’m with Sam.” 

Missouri smiles reassuringly. “You don’t need to worry about that _here_ , Jensen,” she says warmly. “This place is warded very well, and the bedrooms are all designed to help people in trouble. I think you’ll be able to sleep here.”

Jensen looks at Sam, at their joined hands and the way his leg is pressed against Sam’s from hip to knee. He doesn’t pull away, but his expression is troubled. “I think--I think it’s a good idea then,” he says, quietly at first, and then more firmly. “I’ll stay here for tonight. Then we’ll figure out what to do after we--just after.” 

“Okay.” Sam feels anything but okay as he stands up reluctantly and moves away from Jensen. He already misses Jensen’s warmth and comfort. “You can call me when you’re ready, Jensen. And I’ve talked to Sheriff Mills--Jody--and she’ll have someplace for you to go soon.”

Jensen opens his mouth to speak, but turns away silently instead. Sam can see the hurt in his eyes, can _feel_ how much pain this is causing Jensen, but he feels helpless and a little angry under his own hurt. Isn't this what Jensen wants? Isn't this what he'd asked for just yesterday?

“Sam…” Missouri looks sad. “I’ll come out to the car with you and get Jensen’s things.”

Sam just nods. He knows she’s trying to get him alone, probably wants to yell at him for what he's done, for all the ways he's screwed everything up. It's nothing more than he deserves, he knows that, but he's dreading it all the same. There's an unopened bottle of whiskey in the trunk, and right now what he wants more than anything is to find a new hotel room and the bottom of that bottle as quickly as possible. He walks silently to the car, waiting by the trunk for Missouri to catch up. 

“He doesn't have much,” Sam says, feeling vaguely embarrassed as he pulls Jensen's pack from the recesses of the trunk. “Everything happened so fast. We’ve only bought him a few things so far.”

“Sam.” Missouri puts a gentle hand on his arm, but Sam pulls away from her comfort.

“Don't,” he says dully. “You were right to be suspicious of me, and you were right to be angry about what I did to Jensen. I never should have lied to him, I never should have touched him.”

“Sam, stop. I'm not going to judge you, not on something like that, when you share a soul. I struggled with you and Dean when I first found out, but I’ve seen your souls, Sam. The bond you and Dean share isn't like anything I've ever known. And you deserve to be happy. Jensen deserves to be happy, too.” Sam wants to hold onto his anger, his hurt, but the gentle compassion in her voice soothes it away and he finds himself responding to it almost against his will.

“I have to find him, Missouri,” he says, rough and broken. “I have to bring him back, I can't--”

“You _can,_ ” Missouri says firmly. “And you will. You aren't the only person who's ever lost someone, Sam.” Her voice softens again. “You've got to learn to move on. And I'll tell you now, there's a very confused and hurting boy sitting on my couch who’s pretty sure he's in love with you. You think about what he needs before you go and do something reckless.”

“I'm giving him what he wants,” Sam says tiredly. “He...he was very clear about that yesterday.”

“He just needs time, Sam. Don't judge him too harshly. He's been through more in the last few weeks than most people ever endure, and I think you can understand why finding out the whole truth about you and Dean was difficult for him. Don't give up on him too quickly.”

Sam just looks at her, let's her see the hurt and exhaustion and soul deep weariness bubbling through him. He feels the cool touch of her mind against his again, looking for a way in, warming in frustration when his barriers hold. She throws her hands up in defeat as he simply stares at her, unmoved by her efforts. 

“Fine,” she says, resignation tinged with anger. “Will you at least tell me where you're going so I know where to find your body?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Sam tells her mildly, then quickly adds, “Not yet, anyway. I promised Jensen he’d get his tattoo, and I'll keep my word. And….” He hesitates. “And there's a spell I could use your help with, if you’re willing.”

“What kind of spell?” she demands suspiciously, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It's one I did with Bobby and Dean when we were hunting Lilith,” Sam admits reluctantly. “I think it can help me find Dean. I tried it before, but it didn't work.”

“Sam--”

“If you help me, I'll be sure I'm doing it right,” Sam interrupts desperately. “Please, Missouri. I have to know if he's still here or not.”

Missouri sighs. “I swear you Winchesters will be the death of me,” she mutters under her breath. But Sam hears anyway and winces internally, knowing how true it's likely to be.

“Tell me what you need,” she says at last. “Less chance of you blowing the place up if I'm watching out for you.”

“Thank you,” Sam says quietly, hoping she can hear just how much it means to him that she's willing to help. “I'll check my supplies and send you a list of what I still need in the morning.”

“Thank me by letting this go, Sam,” Missouri says just as quietly. “You and I both know Dean wouldn't want you to spend your life on this. Not when there's someone here who needs you.”

Sam doesn't answer, lips pressed tight on the words he wants to say, even though he knows they won't help.

After a moment, she shakes her head and turns back to the house. “Jensen is waiting on me. Don't you do anything stupid, Sam Winchester. And you leave that bottle of whiskey in the trunk where it belongs.”

Sam opens his mouth--to protest, to ask how she knew--but what comes out is something entirely unexpected. “I didn't mean to hurt him. Make sure he knows that?” Sam stumbles over the words awkwardly. “I didn't mean to lie to him. I thought he'd change his mind, want to go home once he realized that three meals a day and a home with parents who loved him weren't so bad after all. I never would have lied to him if I'd known...if I'd known what would happen.”

Sam can’t quite bring himself to say the words, to admit to the idea of loving someone other than Dean. It’s not quite that anyway--the feeling is intense, but Sam isn’t sure it’s love. He wants Jensen physically, and even more than that he wants him to be happy and safe, just wants him to be _here_. A lot of people might call that love, but for Sam that word means something more. It means _Dean_ , and Sam isn’t ready yet to give it to someone else. 

Missouri nods, a hint of tears in her eyes. “Don't you do anything stupid, Sam Winchester,” she says again, clearing her throat. “And you call me-- _us_ \--bright and early tomorrow morning, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” Sam closes the trunk and climbs into the Impala, waiting and watching til Missouri disappears back into the house before pulling away.

Sam doesn't go back to the motel right away. Despite what he’d told Missouri, he’s no longer certain he’s on the right track with the location spell. He desperately wants to believe that Dean is still here somewhere, trapped or wounded, but finding out that Jensen holds a piece of Dean's soul has shaken his faith badly. He needs another plan, and if he’s honest with himself in the back of his mind he's known what he was going to do since he saw the word “reaper” scrawled shakily in his notes. Now that Jensen is safe with someone else, now that he knows the truth, there’s nothing stopping Sam from doing what needs to be done. 

He's going to summon a reaper, and he’s going to bet his brother back.


	18. Chapter 18

The drive across the river to Kansas City takes less than an hour. There’s a storage locker there, one of the first ones their dad had set up--John had done a favor for the owner and in return been allowed to store whatever was needed there free of charge for as long as necessary. Sam has only been there a few times, but the last time in particular is burned into his memory. 

He and Dean had stumbled across the hunt by accident--Dean had been seriously wounded while hunting a rawhead, and Sam had been desperate enough to take him to a faith healer in Nebraska. But when they’d gotten there, they’d discovered that the ‘healer’ was a fraud, that his wife SuEllen was controlling a reaper and forcing it to spare those she deemed worthy and kill those who weren’t. Dean had been healed of his injuries, but at a terrible cost, and when they’d left the small town behind Dean had simply driven aimlessly, determined to put the memories of what happened there behind him. 

When Dean realized where they were, he’d wanted to simply drive straight through, unwilling to drag up still more bad memories by being so close to Lawrence. But Sam had insisted on stopping by the storage area. They’d taken a book of spells, ancient and evil, from SuEllen, and Sam couldn’t bear the thought of keeping it with them any longer than they had to. He could still taste his own desperation when he’d thought he might lose Dean, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t convince himself that he might not have done the same thing SuEllen had. Dean had reluctantly agreed, stopping just long enough to toss the book in a box before putting Kansas City and Lawrence behind them. 

As far as Sam knows, it’s still there. And his desperation is as sharp and deep as it’s ever been. 

Once Sam gets to the fenced-in bank of rundown, bolted sheds, it’s a matter of minutes to find the right door. He hesitates, heart pounding, mouth dry and sour. He remembers some of the things SuEllen had done to control her reaper, and he knows what Dean thought of her actions. _Deal with that when the time comes,_ he tells himself, and unlocks the door. 

The small, dark room looks much the way Sam remembers it. There's a salt line in front of the door, poured into a rough groove John had hacked into the concrete floor. A faded but still potent Devil’s trap painted on the floor and another on the ceiling. Sam can feel their power beating at him faintly as he carefully steps over the salt line, a gift of sorts from the demon blood that still taints him. And, because his father was a paranoid son of a bitch, a tripwire that led to a shotgun filled with rocksalt--not at the door, where someone might expect it, but a few feet in. Sam steps carefully over that trap too, pausing to disarm it in case he has to leave quickly.

The book is right where Sam remembers leaving it, in a battered cardboard box barely inside the room. It's smaller than he expected, memory and need having made it loom larger than life in his memory. In reality, it's small and worn and ordinary, not much bigger than the New Testament Bibles Sam remembers seeing as a kid. He opens it carefully to the familiar, well creased page and begins to read, puzzling out the unfamiliar words and script. It’s a gruesome spell--human tallow candles, the skull of a murder victim, fresh blood to fill the symbolic hollow cross each time it’s used. SuEllen had used animal blood, but Sam won’t put that weight on his soul. He only needs to summon one reaper, only needs to control it long enough to find Dean. His own blood will work just fine for that. Sam tucks the book carefully into his pocket and looks around the small, dusty room, curious now that he has what he came for.

It's messy, which surprises Sam. He remembers John as neat and well organized, disciplined, but this is sheer chaos. Books, weapons, scrolls, charms and things Sam doesn't even recognize are scattered and heaped on shelves and piled in boxes. Sam pulls out his flashlight as he moves further into the gloom, trying to avoid stepping on or touching anything. He imagines John coming here much the way he and Dean had, stopping long enough to rid himself of something too dangerous or time consuming to destroy before heading out in search of something else to kill. The result is a haphazard, dangerous maze of dark magic and sharp objects.

But in the end Sam's curiosity is rewarded. Shoved in a corner out of the way is a trio of half burnt candles, obviously handmade. They shine greasily in the beam of dusty light, radiating a vague sense of menace as Sam stares at them in revulsion. He half remembers the case during which John had acquired them--a coven of witches, drunk on power and demonic bloodlust, had murdered the children of one of their members, rendering their tiny bodies into candles and using their blood and bones to make gruesome fetishes. Sam had been very young, just finding out about the supernatural, but he remembers that John hadn't wanted to burn the candles in case they were somehow cursed. He hadn't remembered they were stored here, but now he realizes that they are exactly what he needs for his spell.

With a grimace, Sam removes his overshirt and carefully wraps it around the three candles, unwilling to touch them with his bare hands as he carries them out to the Impala. He hesitates by the trunk, then sits them on the ground and pulls out a box of salt and the five gallon jug of holy water he and Dean keep for emergencies, complete with crucifix. The candles go into the jug one by one, then he pours the whole bottle of salt in with them. It’s no guarantee, but he’s willing to take a chance that any lingering dark magic on the candles will be destroyed. 

Now he just needs the skull of a murder victim and the right type of cross. The cross should be fairly easy to find--it’s not inherently evil, though it’s often used that way, and although Sam doesn’t know this area well, he and Dean have a list of contacts for just about every major city in the US, even if they’ve never talked to half of them. For a split second he feels the loss of Caleb and Pastor Jim more keenly than he has in years, intensifying the dull ache of losing Bobby that has yet to go away. He lifts the water jug back into the trunk and settles into the front seat to scroll through the list of contacts in his phone. 

There are two names listed under Kansas City, both less than half an hour away by Sam’s estimation. It’s barely lunch time, and on impulse Sam decides to forego calling in favor of a surprise visit. Many of these names had come to his and Dean’s attention after stepping too close to the darker side of magic, and the last thing Sam wants to do is spook someone into running before he has everything he needs. 

It doesn’t help that Sam has a certain reputation among practitioners of magic now. Sam’s grandfather had not been above using him as both a hitman and an enforcer, taking advantage of Sam’s ruthless disregard for human life and and lack of emotion to terrorize anyone he’d thought might be able to lead them to an Alpha. Sam frowns, shaking his head to clear it. His memories of that time are still incomplete, and Castiel’s healing had left what little he had distant and faded. But it’s still not an easy thing to have in his head. He doesn’t recall visiting Kansas City while working with Campbell, but it’s another reason to be safe rather than sorry. Sam googles the first name on his list--A Walk on the Wild Side Occult Supplies--and takes off, hoping his faulty memory hasn’t let him down. 

On the surface, A Walk on the Wild Side looks just as cheesy and ridiculous as its name implies. But Sam is a hunter, and his instincts kick in as soon as he walks through the door. A Devil’s trap under the welcome mat tugs at the demon taint etched into his blood and bones, there’s a real tulpa on a ‘Peace and Prosperity’ sign, and the dreamcatchers hanging on the wall tug at his mind, wispy and ineffective but there. 

More telling are the darker signs. At least one book on the shelf is bound in human skin--the color and texture are nearly unmistakable. The chalice for tips next to the register is inscribed in Enochian with a curse that promises sickness and ill luck to anyone who steals from it. The dolls stacked carelessly on a shelf are marked with real hoodoo signs and hexes, the ‘potions and elixirs’ lining one wall reek of demon blood--and Sam hasn't even made it to the back room marked ‘By Appointment Only’.

The man behind the desk stares as Sam makes his way across the room, face ashen. Sam notices a faint trembling in his hands, a steady thrum of tension vibrating under his skin. Sam smiles, holding his hands out peaceably and the man twitches, one hand moving abortively toward an incongruously bright and innocent looking flower pen lying next to the cash register. 

“Wha--what do you want?” the man behind the desk--Jimmy, according to his nametag-- stutters. “We haven't done anything, I swear!” His eyes dart toward the tip jar and he licks his lips, a bead of sweat creeping out of his hairline.

“I just want to talk,” Sam says easily, still smiling. He leans against the desk, picking up the flower pen as he deliberately looms over Jimmy. “Are you the owner, Jimmy? Or just an apprentice?”

Jimmy goes even paler. “J-J-Just an apprentice,” he stutters. “I just make the dreamcatchers and draw the tulpas.” Jimmy wipes his forehead with a shaking hand. “Please don't kill me.” 

Nausea settles in the pit of Sam's stomach. “I'm not here to kill anyone, Jimmy,” he says calmly, forcing his smile even wider. He spins the pen idly in his fingers, noting Jimmy’s twitch every time the tip point in his direction. “I'm just here to do a little business. I'm going to draw you a picture,” he adds, pulling a piece of receipt tape off the register. Jimmy's eyes track the movement, wide and bright, as Sam sketches the cross shaped vessel he needs and pushes it across the counter.

“Do you have anything like that?”

“I-I-no, of course not! We don't deal in dark magic here, I swear.” Jimmy turns pleading eyes on Sam. “Please, Mr. Winchester--Sam--we don't--”

“That's very disappointing, Jimmy,” Sam says mildly. “And also a lie, since at least one of your books is bound in human skin, your ‘potions’ contain demon blood, and the curse on your tip jar is just a little excessive. Now. I need one of these crosses for a hunt that I'm working, Jimmy, and your shop came highly recommended.” Sam straightens to his full height and points the pen he's still holding at Jimmy, who flinches. “So why don't we talk about what you have in your back room?”

Jimmy sighs and shrugs, ten years worth of confidence and ease sudden appearing in his expression and posture. “Fine, you win,” he says, disgruntled. “Fucking hunters. You think you can come in here and do whatever you want, take whatever you want…I'm just a businessman trying to make a living, you know.”

“That's fine by me,” Sam says easily. “I’ll even bring the cross back when I'm done with it. I can't let you keep the demon blood, though. It's too dangerous.”

“You're one to talk about demon blood,” Jimmy mutters under his breath as he stands and walks toward the curtained off back room.

“I’m the expert,” Sam agrees. His tone is mild, but Jimmy must hear the edge underneath because his face goes pale again and he doesn't raise any more objections.

“Back here,” he mutters, pulling the curtain aside and motioning Sam forward. Sam shakes his head.

“You first.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes but steps through the curtain. Sam follows closely, feels the power of a spell pushing him back--nothing he can't break through but it tingles unpleasantly nonetheless, settling under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch. He does his best to ignore it, staying close to the door as Jimmy consults a clipboard then opens a drawer in what appears to be a repurposed card catalogue. Sam nods in unconscious approval of Jimmy's organization.

“Nice set up,” Sam says, holding out his hand for the cross Jimmy is holding by a leather thong strung through a loop on the top. He examines the cross, removes the lid and checks to make sure it’s empty. 

“Gotta keep organized,” Jimmy says with a shrug. “Too easy to misplace something otherwise, and despite what you think of me I don't let my stuff fall into the wrong hands.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when there are demon blood potions in your front room,” Sam says drily. 

“You don’t know jack about that,” Jimmy shoots back. “One time potions for people who need an edge. I _never_ sell to the same person twice, no matter how much they offer. I’m not here to make addicts.”

Sam nods thoughtfully. “That’s a good policy. I’m still taking them all. I don’t care how much you think you know, it’s not safe.” 

“Sam,” Jimmy wheedles. “You seem like a decent guy, not like most hunters. Don’t burn a bridge you don’t have to, man. You and your brother could use some friends from what I hear.”

“It’s just not that simple, Jimmy. I don’t want us to be enemies, but I can’t leave that sort of thing available to the public.” Sam sighs. “Look, how much do you want for the cross? I’ll bring it back when I’m done, no hard feelings. Just promise me you’ll get rid of the potions and stop making deals with demons, alright?”

Jimmy sneers, all pretense of friendship gone. “If you’re gonna rob me just do it, Winchester,” he says sullenly. “Don’t pretend it’s anything but that. And don’t think I’m not going to tell everyone you’re in the market for demon blood again.”

Sam feels his self control slipping. He cares about what this man is doing, about the people he’s hurting. He does. But he _needs_ to get Dean back, and now that he has concrete plans it’s like there’s a clock ticking in the back of his mind, a nagging voice reminding him of just how long it’s taken him to get his shit back together and make some progress. _Who knows what’s happening to Dean **right now**?_ it whispers, and Sam takes a deep breath, tries to ignore the taunting voice and the images in his head. _Focus,_ he tells himself, and pulls out the last of his cash. He tosses a handful of bills on the counter, everything he has except his emergency credit cards but he doesn’t care. Jensen is with Missouri and going to Jody; Sam’s probably never going to see him again except to say goodbye. Sam can survive alone on what he’s got left, has gotten by on less and if he doesn’t get Dean back this time none of it matters anyway.

“Rental fee,” he says flatly. “I’ll bring back the cross, and we’ll talk about the demon blood then. Right now I’ve got lives to save--but believe me, I won’t forget.”

Jimmy watches him, eyes hard. “Fine,” he says, scooping up the money. “You do that. I’ll be here.”

There’s an implied threat in Jimmy’s words but Sam ignores it. All he can think about now is how _close_ he is. This spell is all he has left and he’s not going to screw things up this time. He’s going to get Dean back, no matter what he has to do.


	19. Chapter 19

Sam breathes a deep sigh of relief once he's back in the Impala. Once upon a time he'd found her claustrophobic and stale. Once upon a time he couldn't wait to get away. Now he takes comfort in her familiarity. She's his home, a fact that it had taken him far too long to appreciate.

Her engine rumbles soothingly when Sam turns the key and puts her in gear. He drives aimlessly until he finds a Starbucks and pulls over to take advantage of free WiFi and endless coffee refills as he checks the local news archives for murders in the past fifty years. 

Eventually he finds something promising. He smiles at the barista--Jen, according to her nametag--as he leaves, and gets a sweet, shy smile in return. One of her male coworkers glares at him from the other side of the shop and Sam grins a little to himself, recognizing a hint of jealousy in the other man’s expression. He drops a little extra in the tip jar as a thank you for all the free refills he'd taken advantage of and steps outside into the hot afternoon sun. Excitement buzzes under his skin, heart beating faster as he slowly drives past the one he’d chosen, checking the entrances and exits. He'd downloaded a map while browsing earlier, but nothing beats seeing the location firsthand--he and Dean had learned that lesson the hard way.

Satisfied, Sam finds a cheap motel and settles in to wait until nightfall. He turns on the TV for distraction, but his thoughts keep returning to Jensen. What he's doing, what Missouri is telling him, whether or not he'll ever forgive Sam. His thoughts chase each around and around until the late nights and stress finally catch up to him and he falls into a light doze.

Sam wakes with a shout dying on his lips, cold sweat dripping down his forehead and sticking his t-shirt to his back. He rarely remembers much about his dreams anymore, not since Cass ‘fixed’ him, and this time is no exception. But his chest aches with loss and loneliness, the entire world painted gray with his grief and _Dean_ echoing in his thoughts. He does his best to shake it off, stripping off his damp clothes for a quick shower before heading over to the cemetery. 

Digging a grave alone is back breaking work, far more difficult than he remembers from the few times he’s done it without Dean in the past. The grave is old, packed and settled earth held together by years of old growth and roots. Sam tries of distract himself with thoughts of Dean. He's going to be furious, of course. What Sam is doing could turn deadly in an instant, and he's walking dangerously close to the line of making deals and going darkside. It will be worth all the yelling to see Dean's smile again though. Sam has no doubt of that, and he holds that image in mind as he tosses load after load of dirt up and over his aching shoulder. 

Dawn is closer than Sam would like when he finally cracks the lid on the coffin. The soft, decayed wood splinters with a single blow, and Sam fishes the skull out gingerly, grateful that the flesh has long since rotted away. Even so, he's glad to put the grisly token in the bag he'd brought along and douse his hands with sanitizer. Sam winces at the fact that he's technically a graverobber now, but he just heaves himself out of the grave, swallows a couple of aspirin, and starts the long, painful task of refilling the grave before the sun comes up.

Sam can't remember the last time a bed looked so inviting. He wants nothing more than to collapse in a heap and sleep until sunset but he knows he can't. The last thing he needs is for the housekeeper to find a bed covered in grave dirt shortly after someone vandalized a cemetery. Reluctantly he opts for a shower instead, telling himself he'll be better off after spending some time soaking his abused muscles anyway. 

As he showers, Sam tries not to think about all the mornings he and Dean have spent slowly and thoroughly working out the knots and kinks in each other's muscles after a long night of digging. Dean was especially good at working his way down Sam's spine, deft fingers prodding and stroking every tight, aching inch until Sam was pliant and loose underneath him. Dean loved it, smugly pleased with himself over every gasp, every moan he could drag out of Sam, over how Sam couldn't help the way his hips jerked against the rough comforter every time Dean dug into a particularly stubborn knot.

“So good for me, Sammy,” he'd murmur against the back of Sam's neck, hot breath dragging shivers up and down Sam's spine, and when he was done he'd flip Sam over, kiss him senseless while he worked himself open. Sam never tried to touch when it was like this, beyond a hand on Dean's hip or over his heart, never tried to help. He'd come to realize, eventually, that this was Dean's way of _taking_ , of giving himself exactly what he wanted, just like Sam had urged him to do in the past. But like so many things, he did so in a way that was uniquely _Dean_ , bringing pleasure to both of them and taking care of Sam at the same time. 

Sam sighs as he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. The hot water had felt good, but it was no substitute for Dean's hands on him. He pulls on boxers and a t-shirt and collapses on the bed, hoping for a couple hours of sleep before heading back across the river.

Naturally, sleep doesn’t cooperate. As exhausted as Sam’s body is, his mind refuses to be still, thoughts and emotions circling sludgily through his brain. It occurs to him as he stares at the ceiling that when it comes right down to it, there’s really no reason to wait to cast the reaper spell. He no longer believes the location spell will work, and if he’s able to summon a reaper to find Dean, he’ll likely be back before anyone even notices he’s gone. 

Then...then maybe he and Dean can go and say goodbye to Jensen together. Jensen’s reaction to learning the full truth of Sam’s relationship with Dean had made it very clear that he will be happier with Missouri and Jody looking out for him. Jody can look out for him and take care of Jensen far better than Sam can. And every day--every hour--that Sam waits is just more time that Dean is in danger. Even if the reaper can’t take him to where Dean is, any information at all will give him a new starting point, that’s all Sam needs, really, though he hopes for more. But anything will be better than the rut he’s spinning his wheels in now. 

After an hour of staring wide eyed at the ceiling and doing his best to rationalize his actions, Sam gives up trying to rest and turns his thoughts toward the altar he needs to put together. His needs are simpler than SuEllen’s--he isn’t trying to force the reaper to do anything except appear and talk for now, so it’s really just a matter of setting out the candles and skull. Sam gives the bag holding the newly exhumed skull a long look of distaste, then heads wearily out to the car to get the candles. 

But as soon as Sam opens the trunk he realizes he’s made a mistake. While putting the candles in salted holy water was a wise precaution, the wicks are now so thoroughly soaked it could be hours before they are dry enough to light. Annoyed with himself, Sam drags the entire five gallon container into the hotel room and drains the tainted water into the sink so that he can retrieve the candles. He drys the wicks as best he can, touching them as little as possible with his bare skin. His stomach roils and drops every time he accidentally brushes the greasy wax with his fingers, but he tries to focus on the positives--this spell is currently his best shot at saving Dean. Sam lays the candles and the skull on the hotel dresser and digs through the first aid kit for a clean syringe. The cross is small enough that he won’t need a lot of blood, and his hands have enough scars already. He draws up a few CCs, barely noticing the sting, and pushes it into the opening at the top of the cross. Another syringeful and the cross is full to overflowing, ready to be used as soon as the candles are dry. Cursing his lack of foresight again, Sam paces the small room, muscles aching and his thoughts slow and thick with exhaustion. He’s more than ready to do what needs to be done now that the means to do so are so near, and he desperately wants to get it over with. 

But there’s nothing left to do but wait, and inevitably Sam’s thoughts circle back to Jensen. Hopefully Sam will survive this experiment, find out where Dean is and compel the reaper to help him rescue Dean. But if not, if something goes wrong and Sam doesn’t survive...Sam feels like he owes Jensen and Missouri at least some explanation. He tears a couple of sheets of paper out of his research notebook and starts to write. 

_Missouri,_ he writes, working to make the letters as legible as possible. Dean teases him as often as possible that the reason he keeps his journal on his laptop is because even he can’t read his writing most of the time. 

_I know I said I wasn’t going anywhere yet. And I didn’t intend to, I swear. But it was time. I know Jensen will be safe with you and Kim. I know I can trust the two of you to teach him and protect him. Mike Newman is expecting Jensen for his tattoo in a few days--Jody should be able to get him there._

_Since the only way you’ll be reading this is if I’m dead or gone, I should spell out what I’m doing. I’m summoning a reaper who can tell me where Dean is. They can track down souls pretty much anywhere...if Dean is on earth, a reaper can tell me. And if he’s not...well, they can tell me that too. The spell I’m using allows me to compel the reaper I summon, which means it won’t be able to lie to me and shouldn’t be able to harm me. I don’t know for sure what will happen, but please believe that I am being as careful as I can._

_Tell Jensen I’m sorry for everything._

_Sam_

Sam reads over the letter, wondering if it's too impersonal. He re-read it, and decides to leave it as is. Despite her affection toward Sam, his relationship with Missouri has always had an edge to it. There was a reason he went to Kim after Dean disappeared, despite having known her a relatively short time. Although Missouri claimed to have come to terms with his and Dean’s relationship she’d never warmed up to Dean, never been kind to him or showed him care or concern when they’d been together. She had saved all of that for Sam, something Sam had always resented on Dean’s behalf. He appreciates her help with Jensen more than he can say, but here, possibly at the end, honesty is the only path he wants to take. 

The next letter is much, much harder.

_Jensen,_

_I’m sorry._

_I know that isn’t good enough--I lied to you about Dean, and now I’ve lied to you about being here as long as you need me. You deserve better than that, and if I could have, I would have stayed and made sure you had everything you needed._

_But I can’t. Dean needs me, I know he does, and I have to find him. This was the best chance that I had. I’ve been searching for months on bad information, and now I’m stuck. I don’t have anywhere else to look. Everything I thought was true was a mistake, and I’m not in a place where I can start over. I just don’t have it in me._

_Jody knows about your situation--not details, just that you need help. She’ll find a place for you and make sure you know what you need to know to keep yourself safe. Between her and Missouri I know you’ll be fine._

_Take care of yourself._

_Sam_

Sam knows he should write more. _I love you_ , he thinks, and wills the words to appear on the page but his hand doesn’t move. Eventually he folds the letter and tucks it into his bag along with the letter to Missouri. _Later_ , he decides, but hesitates a little longer then pulls the letter back out of the bag and reads it again.

_I know this probably isn't what you would have chosen for yourself,_ he writes quickly. _Being bound to someone against your will isn’t right or fair. But I'm glad I almost killed you, and grateful that you came with me anyway. We saved each other, Jensen. Please remember that._

Sam refolds the letter and returns it to the bag before he can change his mind, restless and ill at ease over the whole situation. There's a dull ache in his chest, a ball of worry pressing under his sternum, a need to do _something_ making his mind and fingers twitch, even as his muscles ache and his thoughts flow like cold molasses. 

A glance at the clock on the nightstand proves time is crawling by. Sam is debating between a nap, if he can sleep, and an early lunch when music startles him from his thoughts. It’s Missouri’s ringtone, and he realizes guiltily that it’s well past any time that could be considered _bright and early_. He picks up the phone, steeling himself for her anger. 

“Samuel Winchester, you’d better have a damn good excuse for why I’m calling you,” Missouri scolds when Sam answers the phone. Sam winces at the justified annoyance in her voice. 

“I’m sorry, Missouri,” he says contritely. “I caught a lead that I had to follow up on in Kansas City and I lost track of time.” He hesitates. “How’s Jensen?” 

Missouri sighs. “He’s still sleeping. He had a rough night, even with my wards. You know, I think he might be getting some kind of feedback from Dean’s soul, or maybe….maybe old memories. He kept calling out for you, and the things he said in his sleep were nine kinds of crazy.” She hesitates. “Tomorrow might be a better day for you to come back, Sam. Or better yet, we’ll call you when Jensen’s ready. Just don’t do anything foolish in the meantime.”

Sam closes his eyes, the ache in his chest suddenly deeper, sharper, at the thought of not seeing Jensen at all today. They haven't been apart this long since Sam found him, and he's surprised by how much it hurts. “Tell him I asked about him,” Sam says, voice rough despite his efforts to keep it level. “I'm staying at the 2400 Motel, right across the bridge if…” Sam stops, not really sure what to say. _In case the reaper I'm fixing to summon kills me_ isn't going to set Missouri’s mind at ease, and Sam wants her focused on Jensen, not worrying about him. “You know, just in case.” It sounds lame in his own ears, but Missouri doesn't call him on it too harshly.

“There better not be any just in case, Sam Winchester. I want you to eat something and get some sleep, you hear me? Jensen wants to see you, and he doesn’t need to see you looking like death warmed over.” 

Sam registers the worry in her voice distantly. “Sure,” he agrees automatically. His mind is already wandering even before he says a perfunctory goodbye and hangs up, tossing the phone onto the bed. His gaze falls on the candles and skull laid out on the dresser and he picks up the closest candle, shuddering at the greasy, waxy feel. _I can wait a little longer,_ he decides. He can give Jensen that much, at least. And maybe, now that his judgment isn’t as clouded, he can find another answer, one that won’t add more guilt to the burden Dean already carries. 

After a few minutes of staring at the candles and skull with revulsion, Sam decides to put them away until he needs them. He retrieves the sanctified altar cloth he and Jensen had used to contain the cursed Bible they’d destroyed from Baby’s trunk, noticing the stack of books he’d recently taken from Bobby’s repository as he does so. The thought of dipping into the emergency funds that Charlie had set up for them makes him wince, and he grabs a couple of them and brings them into the room as well. If he can’t see Jensen today, and he’s not going to summon the reaper until he’s seen Jensen again, he might as well get some work done. 

Back in the room Sam carefully wraps the candles and skull in the cloth and immediately feels better. Dousing them in holy water might have broken any spells on the candles, but it doesn’t change what they are. He carefully stacks the entire lot on the top shelf of the closet, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. On a whim, he returns to the Impala and grabs his weapons bag as well, suddenly looking forward to a day of mundane tasks, things he can start and finish with mindless efficiency. 

Sam dumps out the weapons and sorts through them. He picks up Dean’s favorite gun first, swallowing past the lump in his throat. It hasn’t been fired since Dean disappeared, but Sam carefully cleans each piece anyway. He imagines Jensen here with him, eyes wide, knee pressing against his under the table as Sam explains how the pieces fit together and the importance of keeping your weapons in top shape. The daydream blends with memory, hands moving by rote as he remembers sitting around a similar table with Dean, hanging on his every word because it was _Dean_ , and Sam had been in love with his brother for longer than he could remember. 

Sam reassembles Dean’s gun and puts it aside reluctantly, unwilling to lose contact with a piece of his brother. Guilt tugs at him as he picks up Dean’s favorite knife next, cleaning the blade and checking for nicks and scrapes to be smoothed out with Dean’s whetstone. He doesn’t think about where Dean is, what’s happening to him. Turns his mind away from the fact that a single day can be weeks in Hell, because he can’t let himself think like that. Can’t think about his failure and what it could mean. He knows Dean would want this, would want Sam to take care of Jensen first. And he knows, deep down, that Dean _wouldn’t_ want him summoning a reaper or making a deal. He focuses instead on what he can do, right here and now, trying to keep despair and frustration from overwhelming him. 

The time passes quietly despite Sam’s restless thoughts, the ingrained patterns and rhythms a welcome respite from the desperation swirling through his mind. Although Sam is perfectly capable of cleaning and maintaining their weapons, this was always one of Dean’s jobs, and much like with the Impala’s care, Sam had been reluctant to take that away from his memory. But now iIt’s soothing, his hands deftly completing each task in an easy rhythm, and not even an hour has passed before his earlier exhaustion returns full force. He decides to put off cleaning the remaining pieces until he’s gotten some sleep, no need to soldier through if his body and brain are finally willing to let him rest. On impulse, he grabs Dean’s Taurus as he stumbles over to the bed, tucking it under his pillow the way Dean often did. The grip warms in his hand, solid and reassuring, and Sam closes his eyes, hoping this time he won’t dream. 

 

When Sam wakes up the room is still empty. 

Dean is still missing. 

Jensen is still gone. 

It hits him hard, loneliness and sorrow and regret pinning him to the bed. He stares at the cracked, water stained ceiling until his mind shuts off again, unable to summon the will to move. 

Stomach cramps wake Sam up this time. A glance at the clock tells him it’s been nearly twelve hours since he first fell asleep. His stomach cramps painfully again, and he realizes dully that it’s been nearly two days since the breakfast with Jensen that he couldn’t really eat. He forces himself out of bed and calls for pizza before giving into the urge to get the whiskey stashed in the Impala’s trunk. 

A third of the bottle disappears before the pizza arrives. Sam scribbles his name on the receipt and tosses the box on the table with the assorted weapons still waiting to be cleaned, empties the tumbler of whiskey on the bedside table in one long swallow. It burns going down but warms him once it hits his stomach. He doesn’t really feel hungry anymore, but he forces down a single slice of the cheap, greasy pizza. It mixes uneasily with the whiskey but stays down, and that’s all Sam really cares about at this point. He turns on the TV to drown out the noise in his head, even though he already knows it won’t help. He’s already spent months exactly like this, anger and sadness rampaging through his brain until he’d finally just given into despair. Finding Jensen had pulled him out of that spiral, cleared his mind and given him hope that maybe he hadn’t failed after all. Now all of that’s gone again, _Jensen_ is gone again. All the hope Sam thought he’d found is gone with him and all Sam wants to do is just stop. 

Another tumbler of whiskey helps. 

And another. 

And another. 

Sam gives out before the bottle does, nodding off on the couch as the TV drones on in the background. 

He dreams. 

“Sammy,” Dean says warmly, but his eyes are sad and distant and Sam realizes that Dean isn't talking to him. There’s another man, short and heavily built with blond hair and bright blue eyes, sitting on the ground across a small fire from Dean. Sam doesn’t know him, but the man rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. 

“What is it this time?” he asks Dean with a longsuffering air. “Come on, I know you’ve got another story to tell. I’m going to know more about that kid than he knows about himself by the time he gets us out of here.” 

That gets Sam’s attention. Where is here? He looks around frantically, but all he can see is shadowy gray darkness. The fire sheds barely enough light to make out a few trees, although Sam can see Dean clearly. He’s thin, worn down, honed razor sharp by the exhaustion Sam can read in the circles under his eyes. The leather jacket he’d been wearing when he disappeared is still hanging around his shoulders, barely, and Sam’s pretty sure there’s blood on his face and on his hands. 

“Just wondering what he’s up to right now,” Dean says, kind of wistful. “I miss him, you know?”

“Yeah,” the other guy says drily. “I know.”

“Fuck you,” Dean says good naturedly. “Isn’t there anyone you miss back home?”

Time stands still for a moment as Sam sees Dean register the mistake he’s made. “Hey, man, I--”

“It’s fine. Get some sleep, Dean. I’ll take first watch.” The other man turns his back to the fire, makes a show of searching the darkness for danger. 

Dean sighs but doesn’t argue, just stretches out on the hard ground. He drops immediately into a light, restless doze, eyes moving rapidly behind his lids. His lips frame a single word as he fades into the darkness. 

_Sam._


End file.
